The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
by Sita Z
Summary: A twist in the events of Unexpected. The second encounter with the Xyrillians doesn't go quite as smoothly. And Trip is forced to make a decision. Epilogue up! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

Summary: A twist in the events of "Unexpected". The second encounter with the Xyrillians doesn't go quite as smoothly. And Trip is forced to make a decision.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

AN: This story begins at the second meeting with the Xyrillians, but the Klingons will not make an appearance (sorry, guys! -g-).

Thanks and hugs to my wonderful beta-readers Gabi (for all the feedback and encouragement - vielen, vielen Dank!), and T'eyla (for making sure there's enough Malcolm in the story -g-) - you rock, girls!

On with the story... read and review!

Chapter 1

"We may have found the Xyrillian ship, sir."

T'Pol's statement, dryly delivered and as impassive as ever, was the one thing Trip had been waiting for. Never once during those last eight days, while his initial dismay and chagrin had slowly turned into shock, had he stopped hoping for this exact announcement to be made. They were going to find them. He hadn't allowed himself to think otherwise, to think about what exactly "not finding them" would mean. He had endured Phlox' poking and prodding, the Captain's worried looks, T'Pol's caustic comments about where a diplomat was supposed to keep his hands. He had even found it in him to feel something like relief when the doctor cheerfully announced that the embryo was in "perfect health" – all due to the fact that he hadn't allowed himself to stop believing that things were going to turn out alright. Being optimistic was a talent of his, or at least so he'd been told, and during the last eight days that talent had turned into a necessity. Without it, Trip would have been lost.

Maybe the worst about all of this was feeling so ridiculous. Even from his rather biased point of view, Trip couldn't help but acknowledge the humorous aspects of his situation. Charles Tucker III, Chief Engineer of the starship Enterprise, spending three days on an alien vessel to help repairing their engines – and coming back pregnant. Pregnant. When Phlox had first told him, his ever-present smile seemed to have even broadened, and there was no mistaking Jon's snorts, however hard he might have tried to hide them. T'Pol had reacted in her own, scathing way, claiming only his definition of gentleman was the reason for his current... condition. Well, Trip had never expected her to believe that all he had done was play a game. A stupid old game. He still couldn't quite believe that sticking his hands into a box of pebbles could have had quite that effect. But the evidence was clearly displayed on Phlox' sickbay monitors, and there was no way T'Pol would ever believe him. Sometimes he wasn't even sure if Jon really bought his story of interacting with the alien engineer in a strictly diplomatic manner.

It was quite implausible, after all, as implausible as it was that a man got pregnant. But it was the truth.

Phlox, T'Pol and the Captain had promised him to keep his condition a secret, and Trip had convinced himself that not thinking about it was probably the best solution to be able to keep the last few shreds of his sanity intact. Only a few days later it had become clear, however, that it wasn't only the Captain and Phlox discussing the Chief Engineer's unexpected pregnancy. No, most likely it was the whole ship, and every time someone looked at him or made a comment when he passed by Trip knew they were talking about him. Laughing at him, and even though he guessed they were laughing in an affectionate, maybe even compassionate way the fact that he was the butt of their joke still wounded his pride more than he would have thought.

But he hadn't allowed his upset, tangled feelings to surface and get the better of him. A lot of times he had come close to yelling at innocent by-standers, or bursting into tears at the most inopportune moments, but he had managed to keep a grip on himself. Telling himself that there was no use in making this even more difficult, that in the end it would turn out alright, he had somehow managed to get through the past days with his dignity still intact. More or less.

Standing next to Jon in the turbolift, Trip was glad for that fact. The knowledge that he was able to handle the situation made him feel more confident. He was going to be alright. They had found them. Soon this whole business would be over, and in a few months time it would hopefully be forgotten, a report to Starfleet written and sent and never looked at again.

The turbolift doors opened, and Trip followed Jon onto the bridge. When she noted the Captain's arrival, T'Pol immediately rose from the command chair and turned around. Her face bore the usual Vulcan non-expression as she clasped her hands behind her back.

"Captain, we have picked up a warp signature which in all likelihood belongs to the Xyrillian ship. According to long range scans it should take us less than seven minutes to reach their current position." She paused, and for a brief moment her eyes came to rest on Trip. As always he felt uncomfortable under her cool gaze, and the fact that he was wearing civilian clothing didn't help. After a moment, however, T'Pol's eyes shifted back to the Captain. "Your orders, sir?"

Archer nodded at Travis who had half-turned in his seat. "Take us there, Ensign." He turned to Hoshi. "I'll be in my ready room. Put them through as soon as they're in comm range."

"Yes, sir." Trip could hear the unasked question in her voice, and he knew Jon did, too, even though he ignored it.

"T'Pol," he said, "Trip..."

Ignoring Travis' and Malcolm's raised eyebrows, he walked over to the ready room door, and Trip followed him, grateful that Jon had decided to make this call in private. He had been steeling himself for explaining his condition to the Xyrillians with all the senior staff watching, and while it seemed a small price to pay for getting rid of that... being inside him, he was relieved to be spared this particular embarrassment.

As soon as the door had slid shut behind them, T'Pol turned to Archer.

"Captain," she said. "I believe you have considered the possibility that the Xyrillians may not be able to help Commander Tucker?"

She was doing it again. Talking about him as if he wasn't even there. As always it irritated him, and made him feel small at the same time, and the words were out of his mouth before he had the time to think.

"You're some little ray of sunshine, aren't you, T'Pol? It doesn't hurt to ask them!"

Archer threw him an exasperated glance. "Trip. T'Pol is right. We have to keep that possibility in mind. No need to rush things."

"Easy for someone to say who hasn't got an alien lifeform stickin' out his side," Trip muttered, and felt ashamed before he was even finished. Jon was doing everything he could to help him, and he certainly didn't deserve this. Before he could say a word of apology, though, T'Pol spoke up again, her voice sounding definitely icy now.

"Commander, I do not think I have to remind you that it was your carelessness and dereliction of your duties as a senior officer which caused this condition in the first place. Blaming others for your situation will change nothing about that fact."

Trip felt the blood rush to his face. His remark had been out of line, but T'Pol's words spoke of outright contempt. He knew she didn't believe him about what had happened, but up until now he had never realized just how much she detested his supposed actions aboard the alien vessel. He took a deep breath, but before he could say anything Jon held up a hand.

"I don't think there is much use in arguing," Archer said firmly. "It's not like we have much of a choice, and Dr.Phlox assured me that it is highly probable the Xyrillians have developed a way of... transferring a fetus." He paused, and Trip met his gaze, offering a mute apology for his earlier words. Jon accepted it with an almost imperceptible nod, and suddenly Trip found it a little easier to keep his upset feelings under control. It helped a lot to know that Jon, at least, didn't blame him for what had happened. T'Pol raised an eyebrow, looking as if she wanted to add something, but right then a small chirping noise came from the comm speaker on Archer's desk. The Captain pressed a button.

"Hoshi?"

"Captain, I have contacted the Xyrillian ship," the communications officer's voice came through the open channel. "They're ready to speak to you, sir."

Archer took a seat in front of his desk, turning the monitor so that Trip and T'Pol had a clear view of the screen as well. "Put them through, Hoshi."

"Aye, sir."

Trip felt nervousness sitting like a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. He noticed that one of his hands had somehow found its way to the bulge on his side, and quickly removed it, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Why did that thing have to start aching now, of all times?

The blank screen in front of them changed. At first, it showed only the colorful flickering of static interference, then transformed into an image of the Xyrillians' bridge. Trip had never been to the ship's control center during his visit and didn't recognize the surroundings, but the scaly features of the alien on the screen were instantly familiar.

"Captain Archer," Tr'Nal said, his strange bright eyes seeming to display slight surprise. "We didn't expect to see you again so soon. Is there something we can do for you?"

Only someone who knew Archer as well as Trip did would have noticed the subtle tensing of the Captain's shoulders. Jon's voice, however, sounded as level as ever when he answered.

"Captain. Actually I'd prefer different circumstances for our meeting, but I'm afraid we have... ah... some sort of medical emergency here."

Trip winced, and knew without looking that T'Pol's eyebrow had climbed even higher. Tr'Nal seemed confused. "A medical emergency, Captain? I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm sure you have far more suited medical facilities aboard your ship. I really don't know what-"

"It concerns a pregnancy."

At these words, Tr'Nal's mouth closed shut. He regarded Archer with disbelief on his face, and Jon half-turned in his seat, looking at Trip. Swallowing hard, Trip stepped up beside the chair and nodded as a way of greeting.

"Captain," he said. Tr'Nal's gaze came to rest on him, and Trip saw his eyes widen fractionally in recognition.

"Commander Tucker! It is good to see you. As Ah'Len said, you worked real miracles with our engines."

Trip had never known the alien captain to speak in that overly hearty tone of voice. He forced a smile onto his face.

"Glad to hear that. Well, as the Cap'n already told you, I'm afraid we've got a bit of a... problem over here. I've got a bit of a problem." He paused, fighting hard to hold Tr'Nal's gaze. Again, a dull ache made itself felt in his side and Trip bit his lip, trying to ignore the fact that this was probably the most embarrassing and at the same time surreal conversation he'd ever had in his life.

"After I came back from your ship, I noticed certain... changes, and after a while Dr. Phlox discovered that somehow I had become pregnant."

Tr'Nal stared at him, and Trip sighed, lifting his shirt and revealing the reddish protuberance on his left side. As always, the sight of it caused a small shudder within him, but it was nothing compared to the open shock on Tr'Nal's face. Archer spoke up again.

"We do hope you can help us, Captain. Our ship's surgeon says he can't remove the fetus without endangering its life or the life of Commander Tucker, but we assumed you might have some means of-"

"Captain." There was something to Tr'Nal's voice that caught Trip's immediate attention. The Xyrillian captain paused a moment before continuing. "These are very... unexpected circumstances, and I don't think we should discuss this using ship to ship communication." Again, he hesitated, and Trip had the distinct impression that Tr'Nal was feeling very uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassed. Well, he couldn't blame him.

After another small pause the Xyrillian continued," I suggest you and Tucker come aboard my vessel so we can... talk this over."

Archer didn't answer immediately, and for a moment Trip believed he was going to object, but he didn't.

"Very well, Captain. I hope you won't mind if I also bring Dr.Phlox. He's a very capable physician and I believe his knowledge of human physiology would prove a great help to your doctors."

Tr'Nal's face was still rigid, and he kept looking back over his shoulder as if he was afraid of someone eavesdropping on their conversation. Trip doubted the Xyrillian captain was really listening to what Archer was saying.

"Yes, of course, Captain. I'll have the decompression facilities readied for you."

"Thanks. We're on our way."

Tr'Nal threw him a last glance, and Trip couldn't help but think that the man looked like he would rather have a bunch of Suliban invading his ship than them coming aboard. The captain didn't say anything, though, but simply reached for something right below the monitor.

"Tr'Nal out."

The screen went blank and for a moment none of them spoke. Leaning back in his chair, Archer crossed his arms and frowned.

"He did seem rather shaken up at the news."

"Well, that makes two of us," Trip said in a lame attempt at lightening the tension that was hanging over the room. T'Pol raised a disapproving eyebrow, and Archer ignored him, still frowning down at the gray screen.

"It's almost as if we offended him somehow," he said, and Trip sat down on the edge of the desk, studying Jon's features. The Captain looked worried.

"I guess he was jus' surprised," Trip offered quietly, and Archer raised his eyes. "I know I was. Maybe he wants to talk to his crew first."

To Ah'Len, he'd been about to say, but thought better of it when he saw the disapproval on T'Pol's face deepen. He didn't want to give her cause to think he believed there was any particular reason to mention Ah'Len. They had only played a game, after all.

Archer nodded slowly, getting up. "Maybe. Anyway, guess we'd better get going. I'll notify Phlox." He looked at T'Pol who was still standing ramrod straight in the middle of the room. "You have the con," he said, and Trip felt secretly relieved that the Vulcan wasn't going to accompany them to the Xyrillian ship. This was going to be unpleasant enough without having to endure T'Pol's acid looks and remarks on top of everything else.

"Aye sir," she said, turned around and strode to the door without looking back. Trip sighed, looking at Jon.

"Well, let's go, then."

To be continued...

Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

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Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

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Author: Sita Z

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Genre: Angst/Drama

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Rating: PG 13

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AN: Thanks to Luna, narrxun, Ocean, Gabi2305, The Libran Iniquity, kelsey, Elizabeth Annette, JM9, tracy-thecubednag and Rinne for reviewing!

Hope you enjoy Chapter 2! R & r!

Chapter 2

Following Jon and Phlox out of the decompression chamber, Trip took a quick look around. Again, the shapes and colors of the Xyrillian ship struck him as very alien, but this time he found himself having far less trouble adapting to the strangely distorted environment. Maybe it was because he knew what expected him here, or because his eyes and ears had somehow desensitized to the strange echoes and seemingly slowed movements during his first visit – in any case Trip felt nothing but a brief disorientation as he stepped into the corridor leading away from the decompression chamber. He saw Jon shaking his head as if to get rid of a dizzy spell and stepped closer, offering a hand for support.

"The woozy feelin's gonna wear off in a minute," he said quietly. "I found it helps if you try to breathe slowly an' evenly."

Phlox, as usual, didn't seem to have the slightest trouble adapting to the alien environment, smiling as broadly as ever at the four Xyrillians waiting ahead. Trip recognized Tr'Nal and another one of the officers he'd met during his first visit, but the other two he did not know. Ah'Len was not among them.

In the meantime Jon seemed to have recovered from his initial disorientation, and Trip let go of his arm. Tr'Nal came towards them, turning his hands palm upwards in what Trip had learned to be the Xyrillian gesture of welcome.

"Captain Archer," he said, his voice curt. He never stopped to look at Trip and turned directly to Phlox. "Doctor..."

Jon seemed to have noticed Tr'Nal's deliberate disregard of the engineer's presence, and frowned.

"Captain," he said, imitating the Xyrillian's gesture of welcome. "We're glad you're willing to help us. As I said, it's only a few days ago that we found out about Commander Tucker's... condition, and-"

"This is Dr. K'Ron," Tr'Nal interrupted abruptly, motioning for the elderly Xyrillian standing at his left to step forward. "He's Chief Surgeon of my ship, and will perform the necessary examinations."

Trip stared at Tr'Nal in confusion. The man seemed so different from the friendly, hospitable person he'd met less than two weeks ago, and the way he spat out the words "necessary examinations" left no doubt about the fact that he hated discussing this in public. Chief Surgeon K'Ron seemed to share his captain's feelings; throwing Trip an uneasy glance he turned around, and walked off in the direction of a nearby bulkhead. Unsure whether he was supposed to follow him, Trip looked at Jon, and noticed that the frown on Archer's face had deepened. The Captain turned to Tr'Nal.

"Maybe Dr. Phlox can help with these examinations. I'm not doubting your doctor's expertise, but I'm sure Phlox can provide some facts about human physiology which will prove helpful. After all, " he smiled slightly, "this is the first time in history a male human got pregnant-"

"Captain." There was a cutting edge to Tr'Nal's voice that startled Trip. All four Xyrillians were staring at Archer as if he'd just made the most inappropriate of remarks. "I don't think there is need to discuss this any further. Your physician may accompany K'Ron if you think he can be of use, but I'd appreciate it if we could get this over with as quickly and quietly as possible."

Archer hesitated and for a moment looked as if he wanted to say something, but then decided against it. Instead, he simply nodded at Trip and Phlox, indicating they should go with the Xyrillian doctor. Trip hesitated – he didn't know what to make of the Xyrillians' sudden hostility, and for a brief second even considered asking the Captain to accompany them. Then, however, he thought better of it. He was a Starfleet officer, dammit, and despite his current condition he didn't need to embarrass himself further by letting his anxiety get the better of him. Without another word, he turned to Phlox and K'Ron who were waiting for him at the door, and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling at the back of his mind as he followed them to sickbay.

Considering the way the rest of their ship was designed, the Xyrillian hospital facilities reminded Trip a lot of sickbay back on Enterprise. The only real difference were the hospital beds, which had the same curved, sloping form as the bunk he'd used for resting during his first visit. Unlike the rest of the ship, the Xyrillian sickbay had no grass growing on the floor, nor was there any of their strange, sweet-flavored food to be seen on the walls. The surfaces were as smooth and gleaming as Phlox kept his equipment, and when K'Ron switched on one of the bio screens Trip could see that even their design was similar to the monitors back on Enterprise. Phlox, taking an interested look at his surroundings, looked like he would have been thrilled to examine the alien equipment more thoroughly, but K'Ron made it clear that he barely tolerated their presence in his sickbay, and wouldn't react positively to anyone trying to mess with his instruments. Pointing at one of the beds, he wordlessly indicated for Trip to take a seat, and disappeared through a door into an adjoining room.

Exchanging a glance with Phlox, Trip carefully lowered himself onto the sloped surface of the bed and immediately the monitor above his head sprang to life. Phlox stepped closer, a concentrated frown on his face as he studied the strange, angular letters on the screen.

"We should have brought Hoshi," he said, smiling down at Trip in that peculiar way of his. Trip knew Phlox was trying to make him feel more at ease, and answered the doctor's smile, grateful that he didn't have to face K'Ron's examination all on his own. It was a rather disconcerting situation, and the fact that the Xyrillians were treating them like unwelcome intruders didn't help. Phlox was still frowning at the images on the bio screen.

"This could be blood pressure," he said, pointing at a reading in the left upper corner. "I can't be sure, though. Fascinating, their way of-"

"I must ask you not to touch any of the equipment," a cool voice interrupted him. Phlox stepped back from the monitor and turned to the Xyrillian doctor who had returned carrying some kind of hand scanner.

"I'm sorry." Phlox was still smiling, and Trip could see that the Denobulan doctor's unwavering good mood made K'Ron even more suspicious. Stepping up next to the biobed, the Xyrillian turned his back to Phlox and began running the hand scanner over Trip. He repeated the procedure several times, stopping from time to time to compare the scanner's readings to the data displayed on the monitor, and even though Trip was certainly no expert in reading Xyrillian facial expressions, he could tell that K'Ron wasn't pleased at what he saw. Not at all.

After about five minutes of scanning K'Ron shut off the small instrument, ignored Trip's questioning look and turned directly to Phlox.

"Your Captain said human males don't usually conceive," he said, stumbling on the last word. "Is that true?"

Phlox nodded. "Yes. Normally it's the human female who conceives and carries the child to term. I was actually quite surprised that human physiology would adapt to a reproductive system so different from-"

"I see," K'Ron interrupted quickly, studying his scanner as if he'd never seen it before. "So this condition is a very unnatural one for him."

Trip didn't like the way they were talking about him as if he weren't even present, and decided to ask the question that had been burning on his lips ever since they'd come aboard.

"Is there any way to get the fetus outta me without hurtin' it? Maybe you can transfer it to another host or somethin'."

K'Ron didn't look at him, but the way his jaw tightened told Trip that the Xyrillian found his question to be offensive, to say the least. Acting as if he hadn't heard him, K'Ron kept talking directly to Phlox as if Trip had never spoken at all.

"I'm afraid I don't have the authority to decide what steps to take next, doctor. I'll have to confer with Captain Tr'Nal about what we're going to do. Maybe you could inform your captain that-"

"No need," a voice came from the door, and Trip turned his head. Tr'Nal and Archer had entered the room and a few steps behind them followed a small Xyrillian woman Trip instantly recognized.

"Ah'Len!" he said, half-rising from the biobed, but stopped in his tracks when she looked at him. Her expression was no longer the gentle, teasing smile he remembered, but was firmly set and rigid, almost like T'Pol's. Only her eyes betrayed any emotions, and the look in them spoke of nervous apprehension as they settled on him for one brief moment, then darted away again. When she didn't answer or acknowledge his greeting in any way, Trip realized that she, too, was going to ignore him like everybody else, and it surprised and hurt him at the same time. K'Ron had left his bedside and was now talking to his captain in a low voice.

"They were right, Captain. The fetus is located between the sixth and seventh costal bone, and seems to be in its normal stage of development, considering the... unusual circumstances." He paused and fixed Ah'Len with a hard stare. "I was also able to identify its genetic origin. It is clearly your child, Ah'Len."

Tr'Nal stared at Ah'Len who lowered her eyes, studying the floor at her feet. A moment of awkward silence followed, and Trip heard Archer take a deep breath.

"Well," he said, "I guess everyone will agree that these are rather unfortunate circumstances, but we'll have to deal with it now that it has happened. Maybe Dr. K'Ron can tell us if there is a way of removing the fetus-"

"Captain," Tr'Nal interrupted, turning to look at Archer. His voice held embarrassment and barely concealed anger. "I understand humans have a very... casual way of handling these things, but to us a pregnancy is not something to be the subject of loose talk or public discussions. Nor is the unborn child something to be played with, or treated with carelessness. No Xyrillian doctor who has only the slightest respect of medical ethics would even consider, as you put it, "transferring" a fetus. And no self-respecting Xyrillian male," and at these words he looked at Trip for the first time since they'd come aboard, "would ever allow himself to become the host of a child if he isn't lawfully bonded to the mother."

Trip stared at him, momentarily rendered speechless. It had been obvious from the first moment since he'd entered the ship that the Xyrillians for some reason felt less than friendly towards him, but he'd never thought they'd condemn him for what had happened. Refuse to help him because they considered it unethical.

Jon seemed to be similarly surprised, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Tr'Nal," he began, "I'm sorry if we offended you, but I assure you we didn't do so intentionally. I understand you have very strict ethical rules concerning... these things, but the circumstances were a little different in this case, I think. Commander Tucker was not aware that his actions could lead to a pregnancy; he didn't even know about your reproductive system-"

"How could he not know about these things?" Tr'Nal asked disdainfully. "He's a grown man, after all."

Archer opened his mouth, but Trip interrupted before he could say anything. He felt both humiliated and furious, and his anger towards these people who were treating him like he'd committed a crime grew with every minute he had to listen to this conversation.

"It's jus' that humans don't get pregnant by stickin' their hands into a box of glowin' pebbles! Ah'Len told me it was a game you play, to read each others' minds, nothin' else! She never said anything about it bein' some form of sexual intercourse!"

Tr'Nal's head snapped around at these words, and for the first time he addressed Trip directly. "Are you implying that Ah'Len, Chief Engineer and respected member of my crew, took advantage of you and deliberately neglected to tell you about her intentions? Watch what you're saying!"

"She never said a word!" Trip turned to Ah'Len, but she still wouldn't look at him. "Why're you doin' this?"

Ah'Len was still staring down at her feet, refusing to meet his eyes or give an answer to his question. Tr'Nal frowned.

"Ah'Len, I don't think I need to ask you this, but maybe they need to hear it from you –back in the holographic chamber, _did_ you tell him what you were about to do?"

Ah'Len didn't answer immediately, and Trip saw the muscles in her jaw work. Then, however, she finally raised her eyes, and there was nothing unsteady about her voice as she spoke.

"Yes," she said. "Of course I did. He said it was alright with him, and that there was nothing wrong with having a little fun..."

Trip stared at her. He couldn't believe that it was the gentle, competent woman he had gotten to know who was telling these lies, looking at him with scarcely hidden contempt in her eyes. The Xyrillians stared at him as if he were a particularly nasty spot of dirt on their gleaming white sickbay floor, and Archer's face displayed shock and surprise. The thought that Jon might believe them caused a dry feeling in Trip's throat, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"That's not true! I never said that, Cap'n, you gotta believe me! You know I would never do anythin' that stupid, and-"

"Trip." Jon held up a hand. "You told me what happened, and I believe you. Tr'Nal..." He hesitated. "Maybe all of this is some sort of misunderstanding. Commander Tucker assured me he did not know what was happening, and I've never had reason not to believe what he was saying. I think there's no real use in blaming anyone; fact is that Commander Tucker needs your help. I understand that this is a cultural taboo with your people, but this case is different, I think. There is no way he can deliver this baby, so-"

"Captain, I don't think you quite understand." Tr'Nal's voice sounded deceptively calm. "If one of our male crewmembers were to act in such a way, he would be dismissed from the service immediately, and his family would most likely disown him. I already told you that we do not share your careless view of things concerning children and family. There's nothing we can possibly do about Tucker's condition."

"You can't do that!" Trip felt a lump forming in his throat. "I – I can't have that baby, there's no way I-"

"You should have thought of that before you were intimate with someone you had met only a few days before," Tr'Nal interrupted acidly. Trip felt his cheeks flush with rage and embarrassment.

"She never told me this was how you people have sex! And Phlox told you human males don't get pregnant! How was I supposed to know?"

"He's lying!" Ah'Len spoke up all of a sudden, indignant outrage in her voice as she turned to her captain. "I informed him of all possible consequences, but he dismissed my warnings-"

"That's not true!" Trip realized that he had raised his voice, and forced himself to speak in a level tone as he continued. "That's not true, and you know it, Ah'Len. You said it was a game-"

"I don't have to listen to this," Ah'Len interrupted. Trip noticed that her fists were tightly clenched, as if she had a hard time keeping her hands from shaking. In an abrupt movement she turned and walked off towards the sickbay doors. Tr'Nal made as if to follow her, but right then she turned around again, looking at Trip. Her eyes seemed overly bright and for a moment she looked as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't. The doors closed behind her, and for a brief moment no one spoke.

Trip felt a hand settle on his shoulder, and saw that Archer had stepped up beside him. The Captain cleared his throat.

"Tr'Nal, if you like it or not, we need to reach some kind of arrangement here. I can't see you laying all the blame on Commander Tucker, and even assuming Ah'Len told the truth about what happened, it changes nothing about the fact that she was also... involved. So-"

"Captain, I already told you there is nothing we can do." Tr'Nal briefly lowered his eyes. "What Ah'Len did was against regulations, no doubt, and she'll have to face the consequences for her actions. But... it was understandable."

"Why was it understandable?" Trip asked angrily. "She lied to me, sayin'-"

"Ah'Len would never lie about something like that!" Tr'Nal snapped, and his voice grew cold again. "I can see you have no sense of decency whatsoever, but after all what happened you could at least show the courage to take responsibility for your actions!"

"You bastard!" Trip jumped up, shaking with fury. He wanted to smash his fist into Tr'Nal's smug face, wipe the insulting sneer off those scaly features, but before he could even take a step in the alien captain's direction Jon grabbed him by the arm.

"Calm down, Commander!" Archer said sharply. "That's an order."

Trip obeyed, if reluctantly, stopping a few feet in front of Tr'Nal who had hastily retreated a few steps. Hand still firmly on Trip's upper arm, Archer drew in a deep breath.

"Captain, even if you blame Commander Tucker for what happened - what about the child?"

Tr'Nal frowned. "What do you mean?"

Phlox stepped forward. His usual Denobulan smile had vanished to be replaced by an expression Trip had seen only a few times before. People who didn't know the doctor very well might not be aware of it, but Trip knew that behind his serene features Phlox could get very angry. And at the moment he was positively furious.

"Captain, I already informed your Chief Surgeon here that with humans it is the female and not the male who carries the child to term."

"The female?" Tr'Nal repeated, shock and disbelief warring in his eyes. Phlox continued as if he hadn't been interrupted at all.

"Commander Tucker's body was never meant to be the host of a child, and there could be serious damage both to the fetus and the Commander if his condition remains unchanged."

"You can't know that," Tr'Nal said, but his remark only served to fuel Phlox' anger.

"And I have no intentions of finding out, either," the doctor snapped. Trip had never heard the Denobulan use that tone of voice before. "Whatever objections you might have, you cannot endanger two lives because of them!"

"Besides," Archer continued before Tr'Nal could say something, "even if the baby survived, it would always be an alien, an outsider. Human society is very different from the Xyrillian-"

"Indeed it is," Tr'Nal said, and the cold fury in his voice was an easy match for Phlox'. "How dare you tell me what to do on my own ship! I have been very liberal about this, I was willing to talk to you, even offered to have my doctor examine him." He jerked his chin in Trip's direction. "You, on the other hand, continue to insult us, question the honor of my best officer and now you're even trying to give me a lesson in ethics! Listen to me very closely, Captain..." He stepped forward and continued in a very quiet tone, "I'm grateful for what you did to help us with our engines, but if you and your crewmates don't leave on the spot I'm going to call security and have you removed by force."

Archer stared down at the smaller alien. "You would risk a fight about this, Tr'Nal?"

Tr'Nal gave no response, simply staring back at him, and after a moment Archer nodded slowly. "I see." He turned to Trip and Phlox. "We're leaving."

"Cap'n!" Trip had been listening to their conversation with growing despair. "We can't-"

"We're leaving, Trip," Archer repeated, and his tone left no room for interpretation. "That's an order."

"No!" Trip had never thought it would ever come to this, that he would disobey a direct order by his captain, but at the moment he couldn't care less about rank and orders. Right now he felt nothing but a blind panic at the thought of letting his only chance vanish into thin air. "There's no way I'm leavin' here before they haven't got that thing outta me-"

"Commander!" Archer took him by the arm. "I gave you a direct order! Now do what I say or I'll have to officially reprimand you because of insubordination!"

Archer's sharp, angry tone somehow penetrated the shock that was clouding Trip's mind, and he allowed himself to be pulled towards the door without offering any further resistance. Phlox followed, his face grimly set, and Trip heard the door slide shut behind him. None of the Xyrillians followed them as they made their way back to the decompression chamber, but Trip didn't really notice. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, walking like someone in a nightmare. Neither Phlox nor Archer spoke a word as they entered the chamber, and Jon closed the hatch behind them without looking back. Still unable to think straight, Trip watched as the white mist began to envelope his feet and creep up his legs. After a while he absentmindedly lowered himself to the floor, and never moved or spoke a word for a very long time.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to kelsey, narrxun, Luna, JM9, Emiliana Keladry, Rinne, julie, Ocean, The Libran Iniquity, tracy-the cubedone and Gabi for reviewing.

Here's Chapter 3- read and and enjoy! (And review!! -g-)

Chapter 3

Sitting in his quarters, Trip stared out the window at the stars streaking past, trying to gain some of the confidence the sight of the universe at warp usually gave him. Some crewmembers had felt rather uneasy about moving faster than light during their first weeks on Enterprise, had complained about headaches and the like, but Trip was not one of them. All his life he had been waiting to see those rainbow-colored lines of light for real, not in a simulation, and when Enterprise had first gone to warp he'd felt as happy and proud as he had seldom before. It wasn't just about moving; it was about going somewhere, going faster than anyone ever had. Well, anyone on Earth, at least. There had been a number of times when Trip's initial enthusiasm about their mission had been dampened, to say the least, but he'd never lost his love for the sight of the stars at warp. Sometimes when he couldn't sleep at night, he would get up and sit down at his window, simply enjoying the view. And on most occasions it helped him forget whatever it was that was bothering him, allowing him to bring his thoughts back into order again and find solutions. Mostly. But not always.

Turning away from the window, Trip leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was now two hours ago that they had boarded the shuttle, taken their leave and flown back to Enterprise. Two hours since the Xyrillians had left without so much as a last word of farewell, going to warp and disappearing from sight as soon as Jon had closed the shuttle's hatch behind them. Trip still had trouble believing that they were really gone. Just like that, goodbye and good riddance. A crazy part of him still expected Archer to call him any minute, telling him they were back and that it had all been some rather nasty practical joke. Or a misunderstanding. Trip didn't really give a shit which.

Another part of him, however, the part of his mind that was in the habit of popping up when he expected it the least and making cynical comments at the most inopportune moments, told him that it wasn't going to happen. They're gone, it said. Face it, buddy. Not coming back. Left you holding the baby. All puns intended.

It was surprising how much the way the Xyrillians had treated him had shaken him up. At the moment his feelings of anger and humiliation were probably the last thing he needed to worry about, but he couldn't help it. Usually Trip wasn't that easily affected by that kind of thing; he mostly shrugged it off rather quickly, having neither the patience nor the perseverance to bear a grudge for long. This was different, however. Tr'Nal and that doctor of his had treated him like dirt, and Ah'Len had never even tried to come to his help. She had lied looking him straight in the eyes, acted as if he had initiated their liaison – if one could call their weird session in the holographic chamber a liaison – and had clearly indicated that she wanted nothing to do with whatever happened to him now. Maybe that was what hurt him the most. Not that he had any particular feelings for her; hell, they'd met less than two weeks ago, and except for that time in the holo chamber they'd mostly spent their time together repairing Thera warp coils – but that wasn't what it was about. It was the way he'd felt when he'd first been to that ship, the way Ah'Len had made him feel welcome, at home. Her being attracted to him had flattered him, of course, but mostly he'd been proud of making friends with a being from an entirely different culture. Proud of the fact that the very first away mission he'd been responsible for was a complete success – he'd not only got their engines up and running again, but had managed to establish diplomatic relations as well.

And you did just wonderful, the cynical part of his mind spoke up again. Got yourself knocked up by an alien engineer. Well, if that doesn't improve interspecies relations...

Trip shook his head. He should have known. It seemed his fate to mess things up, to find every trouble out here that was waiting to happen. And there was certainly more trouble to this universe than he ever had imagined.

The sound of the doorsignal made him raise his head. For a moment he considered not answering; he didn't really feel like having company right now. But there wasn't much use either in sitting here and beating himself up for what had happened. Could just as well leave that task to the Subcommander, she probably did a much better job of it.

"Come," Trip said, expecting to see the Captain and T'Pol standing in the doorframe. To his surprise, however, Jon had come alone. The Captain surveyed the room with one quick glance, and Trip wished he had at least cleared up the discarded clothing that was piled on his desk chair. Archer however never seemed to notice; his eyes came to rest on Trip and he smiled almost tentatively.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," Trip said, getting up to offer the Captain his chair, but Archer motioned for him to stay put and took a seat on the desk chair after he'd carefully transferred the pile of clothes to the floor. A moment of awkward silence followed.

"I talked to the rest of the senior staff," Jon said finally. "Informed them of what happened."

Trip only nodded. On their way back to the ship Archer had already mentioned that the rest of the bridge crew needed to know about his situation. At the time Trip hadn't really cared, numbly agreeing to anything Archer said, but now that the initial shock had worn off, the idea was rather embarrassing, to say the least. He sighed.

"Well, nothin' like a good laugh to brighten up your day."

Archer looked up. "No one laughed, Trip. In fact they were very concerned. Malcolm even suggested to track down the Xyrillians once again and try a more... aggressive approach."

Trip raised his head. "He did?"

Archer nodded. "He seemed rather.. surprised that I hadn't done so in the first place."

Trip didn't answer, carefully avoiding the Captain's eyes.

"Trip." Jon's voice sounded gentle, but firm, and Trip couldn't help but look up again. "You know that I'd do everything in my power to help you, don't you?" Trip nodded, and Archer continued, "But I can't risk starting an interstellar war. We know nearly nothing about the Xyrillian society, and no one can tell how Tr'Nal would have reacted if I had tried to use force."

"I know," Trip said quickly. He didn't want Jon to think that he was blaming him for his decision. "You did everything you could. An'... an' I'm sorry I disobeyed your orders back on Tr'Nal's ship. Guess I wasn't really thinkin' clearly at the time..."

"It's alright, Trip," Archer said. Another moment of silence ensued, and once again Trip felt a dull ache stabbing his side. Grimacing slightly, he put a hand to the place where the pain had its origin, and pressed his palm against the bulge protruding on his left. He noticed Jon watching him concernedly.

"You alright?"

Trip nodded. "I'm fine. Phlox said it's normal for it to hurt from time to time. He said it's to be expected since it's integrated itself with my pericardium."

Jon raised a hand and wiped his chin in a gesture that was very typical of him. Trip could tell that Jon was trying to find words for what he meant to say next, and it was clear that it wasn't something Trip was going to like.

"You know," Archer began after a while, "we'll have to consider what we're going to do now. Phlox already told you that there's no way of removing the fetus without killing it, so..."

Trip nodded, closing his eyes again. It was the last thing he wanted to talk or even think about, but he knew just as well that pushing it out of his mind wouldn't help. Reality in form of an alien fetus in his side was always there to remind him, and now that the Xyrillians were gone, simply dismissing it from his mind wasn't going to work anymore.

"I'll have to... carry it to term."

"Not necessarily."

Trip opened his eyes and looked at Archer who was staring down at his hands. The Captain had spoken in a very quiet voice, but Trip was sure he had heard him correctly.

"What do you mean?"

Archer hesitated, and Trip could see that his friend was feeling very uncomfortable.

"Trip... back in that holographic chamber-"

"Yes?" Trip asked warily.

"You said Ah'Len never told you what she was about to do..."

Trip swallowed. Here comes, he thought. So he doesn't believe me after all.

"Captain," he began, wishing his voice wouldn't sound so hoarse all of a sudden. "I swear I told you nothin' but the truth. She never said a word. You know I would never lie to you-"

"I know," Archer interrupted, startling Trip into silence. "I believe you, Trip. As I told Tr'Nal, I've never had reason not to. But that wasn't what I was getting at." Again he paused. "Ah'Len lied to you. It was a lie of omission, but it was still a lie. She asked you to play that game, fully conscious of the fact that you weren't aware of the implications. And she deliberately neglected to tell you." Archer looked up, a strange mixture of compassion and anger in his eyes as he continued. "Trip, what she did was essentially-"

"No," Trip interrupted quickly before Archer could say the word. He didn't even want to hear it. "It wasn't like that. She - she never forced me or anything. It was jus' a game."

Somewhere deep down in his mind, however, Trip knew that no matter how hard he tried telling himself that it was not so, Archer was still right. Ah'Len had known it was not just a game, but she hadn't told him. End of story. There was a name for that kind of thing, and no ifs and buts could change anything about the fact that it had happened to him.

Jon took a deep breath. "Trip, I don't think she meant any harm. I guess she never thought it could happen with someone from another species. She didn't strike me like the kind of person who'd resort to lies to get what she wanted. I guess all she did was not think. Still, she left you no choice. And in that case Phlox can't refuse if you ask him to... operate on you."

Trip stared at him. "You mean, perform an... abortion?"

Jon sighed, again running his hand over his chin. "It is an option, Trip. You heard it yourself; Phlox said your condition might turn out to be dangerous, both to you and the fetus. And we don't know for sure whether it can survive at all under these circumstances. I'm not saying this is a decision to be made lightly, but... you should know that it's up to you."

Trip turned his head away, again watching the streaks of light passing by outside. Strangely enough, during all the time they had been looking for the Xyrillian ship he had never once considered this possibility himself. Maybe because he had been so focused on telling himself that things were going to turn out alright, Trip had never really thought about having Phlox remove the lifeform from his body despite the fact that it was going to die in the process. It seemed a terrible idea, simply excising it from his side, as if it were a tumor and not a living being. But at the same time Jon's words triggered a feeling of hope within him. The Xyrillians might be gone, but there was still a way for him to get out of this. Get out of it with his body and mind more or less intact, without having to endure the pain and humiliation of carrying the lifeform to term. The thought of walking down the corridors with everybody whispering behind his back, of seeing the amused compassion on people's faces made him cringe inwardly. He wasn't sure he would be able to go through with it, to bear being on the receiving end of their intrusive questions and "good-natured" teasing. And afterwards? Phlox had said something about "postnatal responsibilities", and even though Trip had only a very vague idea of what kind of "responsibilities" Phlox had been referring to, the mere thought made him shudder. He couldn't do this. It wasn't like he'd asked for it, and the consequences seemed to be going from bad to worse.

"Trip?"

Jon's voice startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to see his friend look at him with the very expression on his face he feared the most – pity.

Trip got up. He could live with being the target of ridicule or open contempt, but one thing Trip knew he wouldn't be able to bear: people feeling sorry for him.

Archer watched him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Where're you going?"

Trip answered without looking back.

"Down to sickbay. I'm gonna talk to Phlox."

§

Trip watched as Phlox shut off his scanner, noticing a thin line that had formed between the doctor's bushy eyebrows. It was obvious that Phlox was not pleased.

Jon, standing next to the biobed Trip was sitting on, cleared his throat.

"Let's hear it, doc. Is it safe?"

Phlox's frown deepened. "In this stage of development it is still possible to extract the fetus without doing irreversible damage to Commander Tucker's vital organs. As to the ethical implications of that course of action-"

"Doc," Trip interrupted, for some reason not quite able to look Phlox in the eyes. "You said you'd do it."

Phlox folded his hands around his scanner, giving Trip an unusually grave look. "I did say so, Commander, since the circumstances of the conception were such that by human law you have the right to ask for my... assistance in this. But I must remind you that you're asking me to end the life of a living, once-to-be-sentient being. Removing it from your body will mean its instant death."

Trip swallowed, staring down at his hands. The doctor was telling him nothing new, but hearing it in these scientific terms made it seem even worse somehow. He couldn't blame Phlox for what he was doing, but at the moment he just wished the doctor would give it a rest. It wasn't like it had been an easy decision to make.

Jon seemed to have read his mind for he intervened before Phlox could continue, resting a hand on the doctor's arm.

"Phlox. I'm sure Trip is aware of the implications. But we'll have to respect his wishes in this."

"You don't have to remind me of my professional obligations, Captain," Phlox said rather testily. "It's just that the Commander is not my only patient here. There are two lives at stake, and I want to make sure I've done everything in my power to preserve them. I understand you are worried about Commander Tucker, but you mustn't forget that this being has the same right to live as he does."

"Can everyone finally stop talkin' about me as if I'm not here?" Trip burst out, feeling an anger that hadn't been there only a moment ago. "I'm not some lab specimen, okay?"

Phlox and Archer both fell silent and stared at him with their eyebrows raised, which made Trip feel even more uncomfortable.

"Look, doc, I'm not a monster. It's not like I want to kill that thing. But I can't..." He broke off, taking a deep breath. There was no use in yelling at Phlox, who was, after all, only doing his job. "Will you help me?"

Phlox sighed, the frown never leaving his round face. "I already told you, Commander, I'm not in the position to refuse. I will perform the operation if you request me to do so. I must however insist that you take the time to think it over."

"Doc," Trip began, but Phlox interrupted him.

"One day. I want you to think about for one day, then come back to see me. If you haven't changed your mind until then, I will not make any further stipulations."

Trip stared at him, and knew that there was no use in arguing. The doctor had made up his mind.

"Fine." He slid off the biobed, hoping they weren't going to make him stay. All he wanted to do now was find a place where he could be alone, and deal with his tangled-up feelings without any prying eyes watching him. "Cap'n, doc..."

Neither of them said a word, but Trip could feel their eyes between his shoulderblades as he left sickbay. When the doors had closed behind him he picked up his pace, walking faster although he had nowhere to go. He felt like kicking the bulkheads, screaming at the walls. Wasn't there a single place on the whole damn ship where he could have a minute's peace, without someone giving him a lecture on medical ethics or looking at him in that understanding way, telling him it wasn't his fault? Why couldn't they mind their own business? Just then another stab of pain sliced through his midriff, and Trip stopped, breathing heavily, pressing a hand against his side. The pain subsided rather quickly as it always did, but still Trip felt like he couldn't go on. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and felt a burning sensation rise behind his lids. He'd never before come so close to wishing he hadn't signed on for this mission, after all.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Gabi, JM9, Luna, Ocean, plumtuckered, Rinne, The Libran Iniquity, Moonstone and TripGirl05 for reviewing! Chapter 4... please r&r!

Chapter 4

The next day went by rather quickly. Jon tried to make him take the shift off, but Trip refused, knowing that work was the only thing that would keep him distracted right now. The Captain didn't seem happy, but didn't make any further objections, either. Trip was glad he didn't. Burying himself in his work was the best form of self-therapy he knew, and after a few hours of bringing the field stabilizers up to scratch Trip actually found himself feeling a little better. His staff acted as they always did around him, and even though Trip was sure that by now everybody knew, he was grateful to Hess and the others for not letting it show. Being out of uniform didn't help, but the loose shirt did a much better job of hiding the bulge on his side.

Not that there really was a point in hiding it, Trip thought wryly. The senior staff had been informed, and everyone who served on a starship knew that aside from warp vessels only gossip traveled faster than light. Still, he wasn't going to run around looking like he had a soccerball stuffed under his uniform. It was bad enough as it was.

At lunch time Hoshi came down to Engineering, carrying a tray with sandwiches and several cups of coffee. She acted cheerfully enough, saying Chef had asked her to take some food down to those "workaholic engineering maniacs", but Trip knew as well as she did that this was not quite the truth. In all likelihood it had been Archer who'd asked her to see to it that Trip got some lunch. Well, Trip didn't really care; he was hungrier than he cared to admit and had only avoided going to messhall because he hated having everyone staring at him. Grabbing two sandwiches and a cup of coffee, he smiled at Hoshi and was relieved when she simply returned the smile and left without any questions about how he felt.

In the afternoon the aches started again. Up until now Trip had been able to more or less keep his mind off the topic, but now he found his thoughts returning to Phlox' words of the day before. You're asking me to kill, the doctor had said, and in a way he was right, of course. Undergoing this operation meant killing it. The fetus.

Trip noticed that he had been staring at the same display for five minutes without ever really seeing the readings on the small screen. With an angry movement of the head he returned his attention to his work. He'd made his decision, and he couldn't let this business affect his work. Still, he seemed to have trouble concentrating, and after he'd triggered the second alarm in thirty minutes by entering wrong access codes he noticed that Lieutenant Hess was watching him with an expression of worried concern.

After the shift was over, Trip escaped to his quarters, and not even the hunger gnawing at his insides made him leave the privacy of his room and go to messhall. Instead he rummaged through his drawers in search for something to eat, and felt an almost ridiculous relief when he finally dug up an old box of cookies. They were rather crumbly and tasted of nothing, but Trip ate the whole box in less than five minutes, even shaking out the crumbs afterwards and licking them off his fingers. It was far from enough, but when Trip tossed the now-empty box into the waste recycler he found himself feeling a little better.

Lying down on his bed, not bothering to turn down the lights or even kick off his boots, Trip draped an arm across his eyes and let out a weary sigh. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not right now and probably not at all, but it felt good, allowing his body a moment's rest. Work in engineering had exhausted him more than he would have thought, and his joints ached as if he was coming down with a flu.

Trip had only just reached the place between wakefulness and slumber where thoughts exist merely as inconsistent snatches of the mind, when a dull pain in his side startled him back to full consciousness. In a gesture that had become rather automatic, he pressed a hand against the lump under his shirt, waiting for the unpleasant feeling to pass. After the pain was gone he let his hand rest on his side for a while. It was strange. Now that he knew he wasn't going to be stuck with that thing for much longer he didn't feel so disgusted anymore. Touching it no longer made him shudder. Following a sudden impulse, Trip pulled up his shirt and took a good look at the thing on his side. Over the last few days it had grown to the size of a honeydew melon, and the bony ridge that went across its length reminded Trip of the protuberant elongation of the spine on a Xyrillian's head. Maybe it _was_ the spine, he mused, carefully running a finger over the reddish knobs. Maybe this was the baby's back he was seeing. For a brief moment he wondered if Xyrillian babies looked very different from human ones. Could they reach the same stage of development in a gestation period of only seven weeks? It seemed impossible. Again, almost tentatively, he touched the bulge, and felt the hot skin under his fingers. Somehow the place felt warmer than his usual body temperature. Trip guessed Phlox would have been able to provide an explanation for that phenomenon, but he had no intentions of asking him about it.

Thinking of the doctor brought reality back to his mind, and he let go of his shirt, pulling it back down. Sleep seemed to be not an option right now, and Trip decided he might just as well go to messhall and get himself a bite to eat. His rumbling stomach reminded him quite clearly of the fact that two sandwiches and a box of cookies were all the food he'd seen yet today, and that it was not enough by far. Well, dinner time was over so hopefully most of the crew would have left messhall and gone to their quarters. And it wasn't yet time for gamma shift to be on duty.

The mere thought of food made his stomach give another angry grumble, and Trip got up, throwing his bed a last, wistful glance. His body ached for some much-needed rest, but he knew from the experience of the last nine days that he would start feeling dizzy and sick with hunger if he didn't get something to eat soon.

On the way to messhall he met only two or three people, and fortunately none of the senior crew. He wasn't really up to explaining to anyone about his red-rimmed eyes, or his absence from dinner in the Captain's mess. All he wanted to do was find something to silence his rebellious stomach and then return to his quarters as quickly as possible.

As he had hoped, messhall was empty. Not bothering to get himself a drink, Trip walked over to the cupboards and began looking over the left-overs from dinner. There was some meatloaf, as well as a plate of that eggplant casserole Hoshi was always trying to get him to eat. Trip grabbed both dishes and some icecream for dessert, carrying his tray over to a table near the window. He sat down and started to dig into his meal, finding to his surprise that despite its rather unappetizing smell the casserole tasted quite good. The simple act of putting food into his mouth made him feel a lot better. Maybe he would be able to get some sleep tonight, after all.

Being as concentrated on his food, Trip never noticed when the messhall door opened.

"Commander..."

Startled, Trip looked up and saw Malcolm standing at the resequencer unit. The Lieutenant had spoken in his usual clipped tone of voice, and when Trip met his eyes, he gave him one of those formal smiles that always made his face look like it was simply not made for smiling. Trip watched as Reed placed a cup in the resequencer's slot, hoping the Lieutenant was going to take his tea and leave. If it had been Archer or Hoshi, he wouldn't even have bothered getting his hopes up, but Malcolm Reed was never one to socialize much.

Cradling his cup in both hands, Reed hesitated for a moment, apparently indecisive whether to stay or go back to his quarters. Trip silently encouraged him to do the latter. He didn't really feel like making forced small talk right now, and the weird assembly of half-eaten dishes in front of him on the table didn't help make the situation less awkward.

No such luck, however. After a brief detour to the cupboards in order to get himself a plate of apple pie, Malcolm came walking over towards Trip's table at the window, again smiling in that suppressed way of his as he pointed at the chair opposite to Trip.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Yes, my invisible buddy is sitting there, and he doesn't like any non-supernatural beings _taking his seat_. Trip had no idea where the crazy line had come from, but he bit down on it just before it left his mouth. It was enough he was pregnant. He didn't need the crew thinking he was schizophrenic as well.

"No, sit down," he said, trying to sound like he hadn't secretly pleaded with Malcolm to leave only a few moments ago. Reed arranged his plate and cup on the table and took a seat, meticulously unfolding his paper napkin and placing it on his lap. Trip felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, and he didn't manage to cover it up quickly enough for Malcolm not to see it. The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows.

"What's so funny?"

Trip shook his head. "It's jus'... my grandpa used to do the same thing."

Reed's eyebrows climbed even higher which gave his usually stoic features a strangely surprised expression. "What? Eat apple pie?"

"No." Trip gestured at Reed's lap. "That napkin thing. I always thought-"

Trip realized what he was about to say, and stopped himself just in time. Great, Trip. Tell him you always thought only weird old screwballs did that kind of thing. Let's start this conversation with you putting your foot in the mouth yet again.

To his surprise, however, Malcolm smiled. "Come to think of it, my grandfather did that, too. Must have taken over the habit."

Trip smiled back, relieved that Malcolm hadn't taken offense at his remark. In the few months they had been out here Trip had never really talked much with the taciturn Lieutenant, but on the few occasions they did talk he had gotten the impression that Reed felt uncomfortable interacting with his fellow officers in any other than a strictly professional manner. At times he had noticed a certain dry humor in the way the Lieutenant commented on things, but mostly the wry irony vanished quickly to be replaced by Reed's usual reserved reticence. Well, at least off duty the man seemed to have a sense of humor, after all.

"So... " Malcolm said, busying himself with the pie on his plate, "busy day in Engineering?"

Trip sighed inwardly. Although he appreciated Malcolm's efforts of making everything seem normal, small talk was last thing he needed right now.

"Yeah," he said. "Quite."

Malcolm nodded. "Same here. I spent all afternoon recalibrating the bloody targeting scanners. Just when I thought I'd solved the problem they went out of alignment again. I really don't know what's wrong."

Trip looked up. "Have you tried reinstallin' the software?"

"Several times." Malcolm stabbed his pie as if it were to blame for every malfunction that had ever occurred in Enterprise's armory. "The simulations are running as perfectly as you please, but every time I try and fire a test torpedo it is off by at least two meters."

"I still think there's somethin' wrong with the computer program. Maybe I can take a look at it tomorrow."

Malcolm looked up from his plate. "But... I thought..."

He trailed off, quickly lowering his eyes, but Trip knew what he'd been about to say. Great. The news really got around at an amazing speed aboard this ship.

"Well, I guess it won't take all day," he said, the words coming out snappier than he'd intended them to. "There'll be time enough in the afternoon."

Malcolm shook his head. "That's alright, Commander. The day after tomorrow will be fine."

"And what if we're bein' attacked?" Trip asked sharply. "I don't think Starfleet'd be very pleased to hear the Chief Engineer was too busy havin' an abortion so he couldn't fix the weapons."

Malcolm flinched, and Trip, seeing it, let out a weary sigh. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I..."

He trailed off, not quite sure what he'd been about to say. He didn't mean to make these tactless, cynical comments, they just seemed to come out somehow without him being able to prevent it. Malcolm was still looking anywhere but in his direction, and Trip felt ashamed. Reed hadn't deserved this.

"I'm really sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to sound rude or somethin'. It's just that... well, guess I'm kinda tired. Didn't get much sleep the last few days."

"I understand," Malcolm offered quietly. "Maybe you should ask Dr. Phlox to give you something."

Trip shook his head. "It's okay. And I don't think Phlox'd be very happy to see me right now."

Reed frowned. "Why's that?"

Trip sighed. "He was quite... upset yesterday. He doesn't think it's right to perform the operation."

Malcolm only nodded, and Trip couldn't help but notice a strange expression on the Lieutenant's face.

"What is it?" he asked. Malcolm shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Yes there is." Trip paused. "You think he's right?"

"It's not my place to decide who is right and who isn't, Commander." Gathering up his plate and cup, Malcolm rose from his chair. "Now if you will excuse me-"

"No I won't." Trip caught him by the arm, and looked pointedly at Reed's chair. "Not until you've told me why you gave me that look a minute ago."

For a moment Reed hesitated, but then he sat back down on his chair.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

At any other time Trip would have rolled his eyes at Reed's stiff formality, but right now he only nodded, apprehension rising at the back of his mind. He didn't really know why he was doing this, asking Reed for his opinion, but somehow he felt almost obliged to listen to him.

Malcolm stared down at his hands, apparently trying to find words for what he was going to say.

"Commander, I... I don't know what I would do in your situation. I really don't. And it's certainly not my place to question your decision, but... maybe Dr.Phlox is right. Maybe you shouldn't do this."

Trip stared at him. If it had been Hoshi, Phlox or maybe even Jon sitting across from him, telling him these very things, he wouldn't have been surprised. Well, not that surprised, anyway. Hoshi was never one to mince matters when there was something on her mind, and the Captain was his best friend, after all. For the last eight years he'd always been the first one Trip had turned to when he'd needed personal advice, or simply a friend who listened.

Malcolm Reed, however, was an entirely different matter. The man was a mystery to him as he was to most of the crew, and Trip couldn't remember a single occasion when the Lieutenant had discussed any of his personal feelings or interests in public.

Reed seemed to have noticed Trip's surprise for he shifted uncomfortably on his chair, again gathering up his cup and plate as if he meant to leave.

"Commander, I apologize if I have been out of line-"

"Malcolm, wait." Reed stopped in his tracks, watching Trip with an almost wary expression on his face. Trip took a deep breath. "This isn't between Commander and Lieutenant. I need your advice as a... as a friend, and I need you to talk to me."

Trip realized with slight dismay that his voice had taken on an almost pleading tone. He'd been turning this problem over in his mind for too long, his thoughts going in circles without coming up with any solution, and Malcolm's point of view seemed to shed new light on the matter.

To Trip's relief Reed stayed. He folded his hands in front of him on the table and took a brief moment to think before he spoke again.

"I don't really know how to explain it. It's just that... I'd have agreed without a second's doubt if the Captain had decided to go aboard that ship once again and try a little more... convincing way of negotiation. But... I don't think it's right to let the child suffer the consequences. Even if the Xyrillians refused to take responsibility, it deserves a chance to live."

Trip had never before heard Malcolm speak with such intensity in his voice. Being used to Reed's usual dry, ironic tone it was almost like talking to another person. He cleared his throat, but for once realized that there was nothing to say. No but, no what if, nothing. Malcolm was right, and in his plain-talking way had voiced the exact thoughts Trip had tried to suppress for the last day and a half. Deserves a chance to live. Just like everyone else.

Trip noticed that he was clenching his fingers around the spoon's handle, and deliberately loosened his grip. He couldn't bring himself to look Malcolm in the eye as he spoke.

"I know. D'you think I've never given thought to that? It's just... hell, Malcolm, I can't... deliver a baby!" Even saying it left a bad taste in his mouth, and to his surprise and further dismay Trip felt sudden tears rising in his eyes. "I'm not a Xyrillian, for God's sake! It's unnatural, and I... I just can't stand havin' everybody laugh at me and whisper behind my back. I'll be the laughin' stock of Starfleet, and the crew'll never respect me after this! And I can't care for a child, much less an alien one. It's not gonna work!"

Angrily, Trip wiped the tears off his cheeks. He hated himself for sounding like he was whining, but the words seemed to come out of his mouth all on their own.

"I can't do this, Malcolm. I jus' can't."

Again, Reed surprised him. Instead of being embarrassed by Trip's tears, Malcolm carefully reached over the table and put a hand on Trip's arm.

"Trip. No one is going to laugh at you. I can understand you are afraid of... of the other consequences, but you're never going to lose the respect of the crew. The Captain told us what happened. It wasn't your fault."

Trip let out a bitter laugh. "Tell that to T'Pol."

"She already knows. When the Captain briefed us on the situation, she was the first one to suggest that we keep your condition a secret, at least for the time being. She said there was "no reason to expose Commander Tucker to even more emotional stress" by making your pregnancy shipwide news."

Trip raised his head, not quite able to believe what Malcolm had just told him. "She said that?"

Reed nodded. "And she was quite emphatic on her point. She made it clear that anyone who let a word slip – accidentally or otherwise – would have to answer to her."

Suddenly Trip felt ashamed. Here he'd been, nursing his grudge against the Vulcan for deliberately letting his secret slip, only to be told that T'Pol had made the senior crew promise not to say a word.

"I thought everybody knew..."

Malcolm shook his head. "Only Dr.Phlox and the senior staff. To tell the truth, there were some speculations as to why you're out of uniform, but T'Pol only told the crewmen in question to mind their own business." He smiled slightly. "She actually quite bit their heads off."

Trip frowned in confusion. "You should've heard her when Phlox first told her and the Cap'n about the whole thing. She seemed to really enjoy rubbin' my face in it."

Malcolm's raised his eyebrows in sympathy. "Guess she couldn't pass up the opportunity to play the logical Vulcan."

Trip nodded, resigning to the fact that he had never been able to understand either Vulcans or women, and that for obvious reasons a Vulcan woman was quite out of his league. Still, strangely enough, the image of T'Pol giving some crewmen a dressing down for "interfering with his business" made him feel a little better.

Malcolm grew serious again. "What I meant to say, even T'Pol knows that you're not to blame." He paused. "Imagine the Xyrillians had needed help with their weapons system. Then it would have been me, not you, going to their ship. It could have happened to anyone. Even to the Captain."

Wearily, Trip shook his head. "You woulda been more careful. I'm the only one stupid enough to... to stick my hands where they don't belong, as T'Pol put it. I shouldn't have gone into that holographic chamber in the first place. I-"

"Trip." It still sounded strange, hearing Malcolm call him by his nickname instead of his title. "We're here to make contact with new species. That means being diplomatic, keeping an open mind. Trying out new things. And who knows? Ah'Len could have been deadly offended if you had refused to play that game of hers. If you put it that way, it might have actually been a breach of Starfleet protocol to turn her down. Everyone would have done the same."

"Still, I was the one who ended up pregnant."

"You were the one going over there to fix their engines, and so you were the one who was responsible for diplomacy. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't your fault."

"And neither is it the baby's fault." Trip didn't know where the words had come from, but the moment they left his mouth he knew them to be the truth. An awkward truth, maybe, one that made it harder or maybe even impossible for him to take the easiest way out of this. Now, however, that he'd said it aloud, there was no way to erase it from memory anymore.

He noticed Malcolm watching him intently. The Lieutenant seemed to know what thoughts were running through his mind, for he simply nodded, then looked down at his hands as if to signalize that he wasn't going to comment. Or push any decisions.

Trip heaved a sigh. In a way, he'd known ever since he'd taken a look at himself earlier that evening that he was no longer sure about the decision he'd made yesterday. If he had ever felt sure about it. Maybe the idea of going through with it, of deciding against the operation had seemed so terrifying that Trip had forcibly dismissed all doubts, ignored them even though they were always present in his mind. But the longer he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that there _was_ no other way. At least none that he could live with.

"Well, shit."

Malcolm looked up, and there was a tiny smile playing about his lips even though his eyes were serious as he spoke.

"You're making the right decision, Trip."

Trip shrugged. He didn't know what to say. How would Malcolm know whether his decision was right or not? His change of mind might just as well have signed his death sentence, and even if it didn't kill him, there still was the shame and humiliation of having to carry the child to term. Not to speak of the responsibility he knew he couldn't take. So what was there to say?

Trip felt a hand on his arm and raised his eyes.

"Trip," Malcolm said. "You know that you're not alone in this, don't you? We'll all do everything we can to help you."

The cynical part of Trip's mind came up with at least a dozen sarcastic answers, but he firmly pushed them away. If he was going to go through with this, he would have to deal with worse things than honest offers of help, and he would have to keep a tight check on his emotions. And wise-cracking at people who told him they were going to be there for him was not a good way to start. He smiled at Malcolm, trying for a level tone of voice as he answered. "Thanks."

Malcolm nodded, then picked up his cup and plate once again.

"Well, I still have some reports I need to finish. Got to go back."

Trip shook his head, watching Malcolm as he got rid of his dishes and made his way towards the door.

"Do you ever sleep, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm smiled again, and this time it wasn't a formal sort of smile. "Good night, Commander."

Trip watched as the door slid shut behind Reed and noticed that the strain of the day was starting to catch up with him. Now that his stomach was no longer giving him hell, he actually felt rather tired. Well, time he got back to his quarters and caught a good night's sleep. After all, he had a hell of a lot of explaining to do in the morning.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Okay... I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't start writing these Author's notes again... but seems I can't help it! Must be my bad genes ;-). Here goes...

Thanks to kelsey, JM9, Gabi2305 (hey, also -ich- hab kein Problem damit, wenn dein Review zweimal auftaucht -g-), Emiliana Keladry, Luna (love your attempts at bribing Gabi :-)... but I'm afraid she won't be able to tell you anything... and I know why, too -eg-), Rinne, lorien829, Phaser Lady (yeah, I had to keep reminding myself too when I wrote this chapter that Trip and Malcolm aren't really friends yet), Maraschino, julie, Ocean (I absolutely agree with what you wrote in your review! I love reading all the different point of views on this story, but it's great when a reader sees exactly the things I was trying to express when I wrote that chapter. Thank you) and Tracy-Thecubednag for reviewing!

On with Chapter 5... please review!

Chapter 5

The next morning when he entered sickbay Trip saw that the Captain was already there, standing together with Phlox in front of a bio screen. The doctor was looking rather grim, while Jon had a worried frown on his face. Neither of them turned around as Trip stepped closer, them being thoroughly absorbed with the data displayed on the monitor in front of them.

"Mornin'," Trip said, suddenly feeling rather apprehensive. How the hell was he going to explain this? He knew it wasn't his strongest side to put his feelings into words. Jon and Phlox turned around to face him, and Trip felt his palms itching with sweat. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Commander," Phlox said without his usual heartiness. "You're quite early."

"Everything okay, Trip?" The frown on Archer's face deepened.

Trip nodded nervously. "I'm fine."

Phlox pointed at one of the biobeds and picked up his med scanner. "Just take a seat while I run a few more scans. It'll take some time to prepare you for surgery, so-"

"Doc, I..." Trip swallowed. "I've decided not to undergo the operation."

Archer raised his head sharply at these words, and Phlox' eyebrows went up, giving his round face an almost comical expression of surprise.

"Trip, are you sure about this?" Jon sounded concerned. "The doctor just told me that the fetus has reached the last stadium in which it is possible to... extract it."

"Medically ethical, to be exact." Phlox folded his hands over his scanner. "You are aware of the fact, Commander, that if you decide not to have me operate on you now, there will be no way to abort the fetus at a later point in time."

"Yes." All of a sudden, it wasn't that hard to keep his voice stable as he spoke. "I've made my decision. I'm not gonna change my mind again." Jon was still watching him, worry evident on his face, and Trip forced himself to meet his gaze. "You said it was up to me, Jon. I... I can't do this."

Archer contemplated, and to Trip's immense surprise he didn't ask any questions. He only nodded, briefly laying a hand on Trip's shoulder.

"The decision is yours to make. Still... be sure you really mean it."

Trip heard the unspoken warning in his tone. Archer was only too aware of the fact that his engineer's condition was a potentially dangerous, maybe even life-threatening one, and that his decision not to undergo the operation might well have fatal consequences. Not to speak of the unpleasant consequences that were certain to follow. Trip was grateful that despite these circumstances Jon accepted his decision without questioning his reasons, or trying to dissuade him. He nodded, and Jon met his eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment before he turned back to the doctor.

Returning his attention to Phlox, Trip noticed that the doctor was wearing a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

"What's so funny, doc?"

Phlox turned towards him, and his smile grew broader, regaining the warmth the doctor's face had lacked earlier.

"You will forgive me, Commander, when I tell you that your decision does not exactly come as a surprise to me. Which is the reason why I asked you to think it over. I'm... glad you came to this decision."

Trip let out a deep breath. This was easier than he'd thought it would be; no confused or even irritated questions concerning his sudden change of mind, no lectures about medical ethics and no doubting looks from Archer's side. They seemed to accept his decision as being his and his alone, and Jon's quiet understanding made Trip feel confident.

"Well, Commander," Phlox said, breaking into his thoughts, "I suppose under these circumstances a little change of schedule is in order. Why don't you sit down while I take a few scans-"

"Doc!" Trip turned and started to walk towards the door, picking up his pace as the doctor started to follow. "I'm perfectly fine, and I got a whole lotta work to do in Engineerin'-"

"Trip-" Archer began, but Phlox cut him off.

"Stop right there, Commander." The doctor's voice had quite a dangerous tone to it, and before Trip knew what was happening he was being marched off towards one of the biobeds, Phlox' fingers holding his upper arm in an iron grip.

"Hey, doc, I ain't got time for this-"

"Sit down and be quiet, Commander." Phlox, still looking very grim, pushed him down on the edge of the bed and stepped up to him until they were almost nose-to-nose. "I'm only going to say this once, and I do advise you to listen very closely. You know I approve of your decision, but this decision also implies that from now on I have a great responsibility resting upon my shoulders. It is my duty as a physician to see to it that both you and the child get the best medical attention I can provide, and I won't allow your personal dislike of medical examinations or your dedication to your work get in the way of that duty. I do not have to remind you that the responsibility is yours just as well." He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. "You will keep every appointment I set, no matter how urgently you feel your presence is needed elsewhere, and you will follow my medical orders to the letter, no matter how "unnecessary" you deem them to be. I know how stubborn you can be, Commander, but this time it will be no use arguing. And should it come to my attention that you did not do exactly what I said, you can be certain I will... take measures. Is that clear?"

Trip stared at the doctor's face which was still only inches from his own, then nodded slowly. "Crystal, doc."

Phlox stepped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Good. And, Captain..." Phlox turned to Archer, and Trip saw that once again the Captain was doing his best to hide a smile that was tugging at his lips. "I trust I can count on your support in this?"

At Phlox' stern tone, Archer sobered up quickly. "Of course, doctor." He raised his eyebrows at Trip. "You heard Phlox, Trip. At the moment your physical condition takes precedence. Maybe you'll have to delegate some of your work to Lieutenant Hess, but I want you to listen to the doctor in this, okay?"

Trip nodded, biting down on his lips to prevent an angry comment from slipping out. He hated being patronized and ordered about, and loathed the idea of neglecting his work in Engineering in order to sit around on a sickbay bed, but he knew just as well he would get nowhere arguing. Besides, Phlox was right. Trying to get around physicals or similar sickbay procedures while in his normal state of health was one thing, but now doing so could be downright dangerous. Dangerous not only to him.

Satisfied at having successfully intimidated his patient, Phlox picked up his scanner and began running it over Trip, once more talking in a cheerful voice as if nothing had happened.

"Well, Commander, it seems that the fetus is in a good state of health, considering the unusual circumstances. There is no reason why its development shouldn't take a perfectly normal course." He pointed at the bio screen above the bed. "As you can see, it has integrated itself even further with your pericardium during the last forty-eight hours. I assume you felt something like a dull pain in your side at some points?"

Trip registered that the doctor had asked him a question, but didn't take in the actual meaning of the words. His attention was totally focused on the small image of the internal scan that was displayed on the bio screen, and even though there wasn't much to see, he couldn't help but feel fascinated. A little scared, too, but still fascinated.

"Is that..."

"That is the fetus, yes." Phlox pointed at a dark spot in the left upper corner. "This is its head, and the thin white line here represents its spine. As far as I can tell, the fetus has reached a developmental stadium equivalent to the third month of gestation in a human pregnancy."

Archer had joined them in front of the monitor, staring at the screen with a mixture of fascination and worry.

"How can it possibly survive like that?" he asked. "I mean... there's no uterus and..."

Trip noticed that the Captain was deliberately avoiding his eyes, and felt his cheeks grow hot. Why all of this had to be so damn embarrassing he did not know. Phlox, however, seemed to be completely oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation, launching into an enthusiastic lecture as he always did when someone required medical information.

"It is quite a fascinating thing, actually. Apparently, by integrating itself with the pericardium, the baby is able to extract the nutrients it needs from its host's body. Additionally a layer of fat tissue seems to have formed around the fetus, protecting it and providing nourishment at the same time. She has no trouble surviving at all."

"She?" Trip stared at Phlox, and Archer's head snapped around as well. The doctor smiled.

"Well, of course she. I determined the fetus' sex quite some time ago. It is clearly female."

Trip swallowed. Hearing the doctor refer to the fetus as a she was confusing, to say the very least. He'd never really thought of it as a being, let alone a person; to him that thing in his side had been more like a parasite, and even his decision not to undergo the operation had been made on a rather abstract basis, not an emotional one. Looking at the image on the screen, thinking of the fetus as a child was disturbing. The idea of the parasite had suited him better, somehow; while disgusting, a parasite was not really something you had to give a lot of thought to. Or take care of.

"Well," Archer said in a resolute tone, almost startling Trip. "I guess there are some things we still need to settle. Doc, is Trip fit for duty, or-"

"Jon!" Trip couldn't believe they were having this discussion yet again. "I'm perfectly fine! There's no reason I-"

"At the moment I see no danger in allowing the Commander to continue work in Engineering," Phlox cut him off, with a look that said very clearly it was him who called the shots around here. "I recommend half-time duties, though. And no physically exhausting work. The Commander needs a lot of rest."

"Half-time duties it is, then," Archer confirmed, ignoring Trip's scowl. "Anything else, doc?"

"I will put together a list with nutrients that are necessary to ensure the well-being of both parent and child." Phlox looked at Trip. "I'll be giving you regular injections in order to prevent the development of an iron deficiency. There are a number of exercises you should do at least twice a week, at best every other day, to compensate the increasing strain on your dorsal muscles, and of course I need you to come and see me at least once a day. Should there be any complications I want you to inform me immediately, and not wait until it gets worse, understood, Commander?"

The prospect of spending at least half an hour in sickbay every day made Trip feel positively glum, but he didn't argue. When Phlox started to use his title more frequently than usual, Trip knew it was better to agree with anything the doctor said. After all, Phlox could get very nasty when irritated.

Archer leaned against on of the biobeds and Trip could see there was still something on his mind, but that he was hesitant to bring it up. He sighed; he had a pretty good guess what it was that the Captain wanted to discuss with him. And that he wasn't going to like it one bit.

"Trip," Jon began, rather reluctantly, as it seemed. "You know... we won't be able to keep your condition a secret forever. It'll start to... to show, and there'd be no end to speculations if we don't inform the crew about what happened. And I think it's better to tell them the truth than have them make up one of their own."

Trip closed his eyes for a moment. He'd been dreading the moment when Archer would make this very suggestion. Being head of a starship department, no one had to tell him that people talked, and talked a lot, especially when there wasn't anything to keep their minds occupied but their dull every-day work. And there was no way he would be able to hide his condition for a longer period of time. That thing – the fetus – was growing at a rapid speed, and he suspected it would have doubled in size only a week from now.

Still, the idea of "informing the crew" was nothing short of horrible. He knew the crew consisted of good people who wouldn't deliberately make anyone suffer just for the fun of it, but still, they were not exactly saints. Space travel could get very boring, and any kind of distraction was welcomed with open arms by a crew who didn't have a lot of leisure amenities at their disposal. And a pregnant Chief Engineer, Trip had no illusions about that, was going to be one hell of a distraction.

"Trip?"

He noticed that Archer was still watching him, waiting for an answer. Trip sighed.

"Well, and how do you plan to tell 'em? Make a shipwide announcement?"

Archer shook his head. "I'm going to ask the senior staff to inform their respective departments as discreetly as possible about what happened. Trip, no one's going to give you a hard time, we'll see to that. I'm sure the crew'll be just as worried as the rest of us when they hear about it."

Archer's words weren't much of a consolation to Trip. He hated having people worrying about him, and detested even more being on the receiving end of furtive glances and whispered comments as was certainly going to happen. But it was no use. Illogical to complain about the inevitable, as T'Pol would have said.

He nodded resignedly. "Well, guess I don't have much of a choice."

Archer gave him a compassionate pat on the shoulder. "Well, I'd better get going, then."

An even more illogical part of Trip wanted to ask if they could wait at least another day, but he stopped himself before the question was out of his mouth. There was no way around this, and the earlier he had to deal with it, the earlier he could start getting used to the stares and comments.

When the sickbay doors had closed behind Archer, Trip turned to Phlox. "You done, doc? I promised Malcolm to take a look at his targetin' scanners today, an' I guess he'd like to get it done as soon as possible."

Phlox nodded, but held up a hand when Trip started to slide off the biobed. "Remember, Commander - half-time duties. I'll ask the Captain to drop by Engineering this afternoon, and if I hear you've still been working there's going to be, as you'd put it, "hell to pay"."

Trip threw the doctor an uneasy glance, deciding not to inquire about how exactly Phlox interpreted this particular human expression. He was just on his way to the sickbay doors when he heard Phlox' voice.

"Commander."

Trip turned, hoping the doctor hadn't remembered some test or scan he'd forgotten during his earlier examination. Phlox, however, only looked at him with a strange expression on his face, almost like... concern?

"I just want you to know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." He smiled slightly. "At any time of the day. Or night. Feel free to come here anytime if you need something."

Trip didn't really know what to say. He was touched by the gesture, but still, this wasn't the way he and Phlox usually interacted. Mostly he annoyed the doctor by complaining about one thing or another, and the Denobulan told him off for being unreasonable.

Realizing that some kind of reaction was in order, Trip smiled a little awkwardly. "Thanks, doc. I'll keep it in mind."

Phlox answered his smile, and Trip turned to the door, finding that despite everything he felt a lot better than before. Attitude, he told himself while walking down the corridor towards the turbolift. That was what it was all about, in the end. And considering what lay ahead, he was certainly going to need it.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Lei Fon, Emiliana Keladry, Rinne, Luna (I'm -not- open to bribery... not at all... well, how much???-g-), Phaser Lady, kelsey, Gabi (Jaja, Phlox der tyrannische Alleinherrscher... so gefällt er mir am besten -g-), Ocean (...and I have a feeling that you're right ;-)...), JM9, The Libran Iniquity (Eine Aktualisierung? Ja?? Da kann ich wohl nicht länger warten ;-)...) and rae for reviewing.

Here's Chapter 6... please r&r!

AN 2: Upcoming soon: "Starfleet Hero, Doggy Style" (by Tsuev), written by my little sister! Her first fanfic, a wonderful story starring the Almighty Porthos, so if you find the time, please read and review!!

And now... on with Chapter 6!

Chapter 6

If someone had asked Trip to describe the week that followed the ominous "informing of the crew", he'd have described as a rather surreal experience. Like he had expected, people stared and whispered - of course they did - but what was a lot more prominent was their untiring will to help. At times Trip started to feel like he was being smothered with attention everywhere he went, and as much as he appreciated their concern, sometimes all that kept him from snapping at them was his fierce determination not to let any of these "mood swings" show. According to Phlox, it was due to certain hormones that he felt like he was back in puberty - happy and relaxed at one moment and only a moment later itching to strangle everyone who dared to disturb him in his misery - but it didn't really make a difference to Trip exactly _where_ these emotions came from. He knew he had to deal with them, and by making up his mind right in the beginning that letting himself go was not an option he managed to get by fairly well. There had been some incidents with hapless ensigns who managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but mostly Trip was able to keep himself from biting his staffs' heads off just because he felt like everyone was staring and laughing at him. And due to a remark by Lieutenant Hess he'd accidentally overheard - "Don't worry, Michael, he didn't mean it; my sister was the same when she was pregnant with her twins" - Trip struggled even harder to act like his hormones weren't driving him up and down the emotional ladder twenty-four hours a day. At some point Malcolm even asked him if that smile was glued to his face, or if he had discovered Chef's hiding place for his famous Kentucky Bourbon.

The fact that by now there was no way to hide the bulge anymore wasn't helping. Trip had started to wear baggy pullovers instead of shirts, hoping they would do a better job concealing the lump on his side, but even like that, it was starting to show. Nevertheless, Trip kept wearing the pullovers; it helped his self-confidence a lot not to have people steal furtive glances at his middle all the time, and besides, the thick material kept him warm. He often felt rather cold these days.

In the beginning, Trip had only half-heartedly done the exercises Phlox had prescribed; he preferred real sport rather than gymnastics, and the term the doctor had used – "prenatal exercises" – was enough to put a damper on any enthusiasm Trip might have felt for this particular kind of physical activity. Later that week, however, Trip started to do them more often, in the end every other day as Phlox had recommended. When he left Engineering after his four-hour shift his back was often aching and stinging and generally giving him hell, and he'd noticed that the exercises brought a certain relief when done regularly.

Even though he would have rather bit off his tongue than admitted it in front of the doctor, in the meantime Trip was rather glad Phlox had put him on half-time duties. When his shift was over he often felt like he was just coming from a ten-day hiking tour instead of four hours of engineering work, and on bad days he sometimes simply collapsed on his bed after work and slept through the whole afternoon, waking up in the evening and feeling tired enough to go right back to bed. Phlox said it was normal for him in his present condition to have a high sleep requirement, but at times Trip was beginning to get annoyed with himself. He'd never needed much sleep before, and it seemed like such a waste of time, snoring away on his bunk when there was work to be done in Engineering. Trip knew his staff consisted of talented engineers who were quite capable of keeping things up to scratch, but still he hated having to delegate his duties. It wasn't right for the Chief Engineer to spend more time in the land of nod than in his own department. His crew, he'd come to realize though, had a very different view on that matter. Often Hess all but ordered him to "sit down and take a break", and when there was any job to be done that involved climbing ladders or crawling through Jeffries tubes, some helpful member of his staff would appear out of nothing, snatch the hypospanner from his hand and tell him to go and supervise the repairs at the other end of the room. There seemed to be a lot of supervising that needed to get done lately. At times Trip felt like he was more of an observer than actual participant in his own department.

Aside from the general efforts to stop him from doing anything constructive and his increased need of sleep, the thing Trip hated most of all was the morning sickness. When Phlox had first told him he was probably going to experience symptoms like mood swings and feelings of nausea, he had thought it to be one of the doctor's weird jokes, not taking it seriously. When he'd awoken the first time, however, a taste in his mouth like something had died on his tongue not too recently and feeling like he never wanted to see food in his life ever again, he'd learned the hard way that Phlox wasn't given to joking about medical matters. In the meantime, he'd become used to it that the first thing he did in the morning was staggering into the head and saying a rather rushed goodbye to last night's dinner, but still, it wasn't a very nice way to start the day. And Trip, not a morning person in general, would have given a lot to get rid of that particular inconvenience.

Today had been particularly bad. First he'd overslept, awaking with a start only to notice that he had less than fifteen minutes left until his shift started. He'd jumped out of bed, only succeeding in making his head spin and his stomach give a lurch like he'd just taken a ride on a roller-coaster. He'd barely made it into the head, and when he'd taken a look at himself in the mirror afterwards, the pale, gloomy face that stared at him told him that today was going to be one of those days. And a particular nasty one, to boot.

Usually he would have skipped breakfast to make it to his post still in time, but Trip knew that if he did so now, he'd start feeling run-down and dizzy with hunger in no time. So he'd quickly stopped by mess-hall, fixed himself a sandwich, and had just been about to leave when he bumped right into Phlox. The doctor always left sickbay around this time of the day to have his usual rich breakfast, and when he'd seen the ham and egg sandwich in Trip's hand his eyebrows had climbed to an alarming height.

"Is this your breakfast, Commander?" he'd asked, sounding like it was the most heinous of crimes to have a sandwich for your morning meal.

Trip hadn't been able to come up with a good excuse in time, and so Phlox had discovered the truth, much to his annoyance, of course. He'd forced Trip to sit down and eat his sandwich as well as some "very healthy" muesli consisting of unidentifiable dried fruit that tasted like rubber, all the while lecturing him on how important it was for him to eat regular, nutritious meals. Trip knew, of course, that the doctor was right, and somewhere deep down felt guilty about his carelessness, but that particular morning he only wished Phlox would give it a rest.

When he left messhall – still feeling tired and sluggish for Phlox had taken away his coffee and made him drink some fruit juice instead – his mood had reached its lowest level, and he had to grit his teeth not to snap at his crew who greeted him with worried looks and questions if everything was alright.

"I'm fine," he managed to get out in a fairly polite tone, "jus' overslept."

The concerned looks followed him all the way to the upper level, and after a while Trip couldn't stand it anymore, grabbing a microspanner and escaping to the remotest corner of the room where he busied himself with some long-due repairs on one of the Jeffries tubes. Concentrating on his work, Trip managed to forget about everything else, and he'd just started to feel a little better when Lieutenant Hess' exasperated face appeared at the end of the tube.

"Commander!" she said, sounding suspiciously like Dr. Phlox. "I _told_ you Rostov can do those repairs on the Jeffries tubes. There's no need for you to climb around in here. You could fall and hurt yourself."

Trip needed all his self-control not to let an angry comment slip out. They mean well, he told himself firmly. They're not treating you like an incompetent half-wit on purpose.

He managed to plaster a smile onto his face. "Yeah, I know Rostov's scheduled for those repairs, but I thought I might get some of that done while I was back here anyway checkin' the stabilizers."

Trip noticed that he was all but apologizing to Hess, and sighed inwardly. If it were Malcolm running around looking like he had eaten a whole water melon at one sitting, none of the armory staff would ever dare to order their boss about, or tell him to stay away from the torpedoes so he wouldn't hurt himself. He must be doing something wrong. Or maybe it was just that menacing look he knew he would never be able to produce, no matter how hard he kept trying.

Hess shook her head, muttering something like "incorrigible", then climbed into the tube as well and reached for the microspanner. Trip, feeling that his reputation had suffered enough strain during the last few weeks, decided not to start a wrestling match with his second-in-command in one of the Jeffries tubes and let her have the spanner without offering any further resistance.

"Careful!" Hess cried out when Trip started to climb out of the tube, and immediately Ensign Kelly appeared at his side, supporting him as he lowered himself from the edge.

"How're you feeling, boss?" she asked, eyeing him concernedly as if she expected him to pass out cold any minute. "You look tired."

Trip knew he did. He was _feeling_ tired, too, and it wasn't only the fact that he'd missed his usual cup of coffee. The simple act of climbing into and back out of the Jeffries tube had left him slightly out of breath, and even though he'd started work less than an hour ago, he felt ready to go right back to bed.

"I'm fine, Ensign." He smiled at Kelly whose doubting gaze lingered on him long enough to tell him that she didn't believe a word he was saying.

"Maybe you want to sit down for a moment and have Pam show you last week's efficiency reports," Hess called from within the tube. Kelly nodded in eager approval.

"Yeah, that'd be great, boss. There are... some minor schedule problems we need to go through."

Just how dumb do they think I am, Trip wondered, noticing from the corner of his eye how Hess gave Kelly the thumbs-up. Kelly had been taking care of schedule ever since they'd left spacedock, and she'd never before needed his help, let alone asked him to go through her reports.

"An aunt of mine used to do the same thing, y'know," he said as Kelly followed him to his desk, padds ready in hand. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Trip grinned.

"Whenever she felt I was gettin' too hyper, she'd give me this colorin' book and tell me to go and sit down and not get up until I had colored at least two of those pictures." He took a seat behind his desk, looking up at Kelly. "Well, guess she didn't have any efficiency reports for me to go through."

Kelly had the decency to blush a little. "Now, boss, you know we'd never-"

"Yeah yeah, I know you'd never." Trip waved her off. "Well, lemme see those reports."

They spent the rest of the morning thoroughly re-working the Engineering schedule, and when Kelly finally put the last padd aside, Trip noticed that his shift was almost over. Kelly, also looking at the time, gave him one of her bright, sunny smiles.

"Well, boss, why don't you call it a day and get yourself some lunch. You look hungry."

"Ensign-" Trip began, reaching out for one of the padds, but Kelly quickly snatched it up before he could take it.

"You'd better get going, Commander. Chef made pecan pie for dessert, and if you don't hurry, there won't be any left."

She smiled at him encouragingly, all but shooing him to the door, and Trip noticed that all over the room people exchanged smiles and glances. He couldn't help but feel that there was a shipwide conspiracy going to get him out of Engineering as quickly and efficiently as possible, and he didn't like it. Bad enough that his own staff were treating him like... well, like an expectant mother, but it did seem like Phlox wasn't all that innocent either. Trip wouldn't put it past the doctor to talk to Hess and tell her to see to it that he spent most of his working time at his desk, or "supervising".

Closing the door of Engineering behind him, Trip allowed himself a moment's rest and leaned wearily against the wall. His back was aching something fierce, and again he experienced the slightly paradoxical sensation of feeling rather sick and ravenous at the same time.

He was just about to resume his way to the turbolift when he suddenly felt a small bump in his side. He knew what it was, and his hand automatically went to the bulge on his left, resting there until the feeling was gone again. Trip had never told anyone that he was starting to feel the fetus' movements now and then, not even Phlox, risking the doctor's wrath if he found out that Trip had been keeping medical details from him. He kept telling himself he wasn't telling anyone because he was embarrassed, or because they'd start asking awkward questions, but deep down inside he knew there was more to it. As humiliating and unnatural as the whole situation was, there was this one small personal thing he didn't feel like telling anyone about. Just because. A private thing he needed to share with no one, except maybe with the being that was growing between his ribs. She'd kick him, as if to say "Hey, I'm still here" and he'd react by placing a hand on his side, acknowledging her presence in a grudging yet good-natured manner. Trip knew he wouldn't be able to tell Jon, Phlox or Malcolm about it. He didn't want to. It felt right the way it was. By telling someone Trip suspected he'd lose that feeling of secret, almost guilty amusement he experienced whenever she nudged him, and to his surprise he realized he didn't _want _to lose it.

When he entered messhall, the room was rather crowded, as always around lunch time. There were quite a lot of people waiting in front of the cupboards, and Trip got in line, feeling his empty stomach ache with hunger. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea after all, having only a sandwich and some rubber fruit for breakfast.

After he'd laden his tray with two tuna sandwiches, a serving of mixed pickles, a side salad (an allowance to the diet plan Phlox had put together) and a plate of pecan pie he started to look for a free table. He spotted one at the other end of the room, but that moment a voice called out from behind.

"Commander!"

Turning, Trip saw Hoshi and Malcolm sitting together at a table near the window. Reed was smiling in his usual reserved way while the young communications officer was grinning openly, waving at Trip and gesturing at a free chair next to her.

Trip knew Hoshi wouldn't take no for an answer, and so he turned around, carrying his tray over to her table. Hoshi smiled at him when he sat down next to her.

"Hungry?"

Trip couldn't help but answer her smile. Hoshi had a way of making people feel at ease, even when she was teasing them.

"Yeah, quite. And you know, there's nothin' like some really spicy pickles to go with pecan pie."

Hoshi snorted, and Trip saw a smile tug at Malcolm's lips. He'd realized in the meantime that there was no use in desperately trying to act like nothing had changed, like there wasn't a big round bulge protruding from his left, and Trip found that acknowledging the humorous aspects often was the best way to make his every-day life a little easier.

Gathering up one of his sandwiches, he looked at Malcolm. "How're the targetin' scanners holdin', Lieutenant?"

Malcolm's face grew rather gloomy, as always when someone mentioned the pet peeve of his life as an armory officer.

"They were running smoothly for two or three days after you'd rerouted the power grid, but right this morning they've gone out of alignment again." He sighed like a man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "It's as if they were jinxed."

"Unlikely, Lieutenant," a cool voice stated from behind. They turned around to see T'Pol standing there, hands clasped behind her back and eyebrows raised in disapproval. "It is illogical to assume that magic powers are interfering with the equipment."

"I'm not," Malcolm stated indignantly, ignoring Trip's and Hoshi's grins. "It's just a saying."

T'Pol didn't seem very impressed. "At any rate, I believe I know what is causing the continuous malfunctions."

Malcolm's eyes grew bigger. "You do?"

"I believe I just told you so." T'Pol's eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead, and Trip felt sorry for Malcolm when he saw a blush creeping up the armory officer's neck. He knew Malcolm was rather intimidated by the Vulcan Subcommander's peremptory manner, and was always doing his best to avoid being on the receiving end of her cool, disapproving stares.

"So, what did you find out, Subcommander?" Trip asked, taking pity on Malcolm whose blush had reached his cheeks by now, and was rapidly engulfing his ears. T'Pol's eyes came to rest on him.

"I believe the malfunction is being caused by a slight energy flashback from the stabilizers, which are hooked up with the same power distributor. I noticed this morning when I was performing some scans that there were irregular power readings in some areas of the ship's systems. It did not take me long to discover their source."

Trip frowned. "But reroutin' the grid shoulda taken care of that."

"Not in this case, Commander," T'Pol produced a padd from behind her back. "To effectively clear the scanners' systems of any flashbacks it will be necessary to cut them off from main distribution here, here and here."

Taking another bite from his sandwich, Trip quickly skimmed through the areas T'Pol had recommended for modification. "Shouldn't take too long."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I would appreciate your assistance in this," she stated stiffly. "Perhaps you could meet me in the armory at 0800 tomorrow morning."

Trip, who hadn't missed the look of pure delight that had crossed Malcolm's face at the idea of repairing his beloved targeting scanners once and forever, picked up the padd and quickly estimated the time it would take to perform the modifications.

"Actually, why don't we go down there right after lunch and have a look at it." He looked up at T'Pol. "Shouldn't take more'n two hours, at the most."

"But you're supposed to rest, Commander," Malcolm, T'Pol and Hoshi chorused, and Trip couldn't quite decide whether to feel amused or exasperated.

"Look, I just spent the whole mornin' lookin' through Kelly's reports," he said, conveniently forgetting that only a few hours ago he'd felt ready to collapse on his bed and go right to sleep. "A little bit o' real engineerin' work is jus' what I need."

T'Pol still didn't look convinced. "Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago. As far as I know you're not supposed to work more than four hours a day."

Trip sighed. Why couldn't they give it a rest?"

"Look, I'm feelin' fine. And I bet the doc would agree with me that it is no problem if I stay on duty a little longer when I feel like it."

T'Pol regarded him with her eyebrows raised skeptically, and Trip felt a slight blush warming his face. It wasn't a lie, but to be perfectly honest, it came quite close to one. Phlox would never agree with any such thing, and Trip knew that. To his surprise, however, T'Pol didn't raise any further objections.

"Very well, Commander. I will meet you there in forty-five minutes."

Malcolm – Trip had never thought the Lieutenant capable of this expression – actually beamed with joy at the prospect of having his weapons fixed. Well, Trip thought, turning back to his lunch, now let's just hope that Phlox won't catch me, and everybody'll live happily ever after.

XXX

T'Pol's modifications turned out to be more work than Trip had initially assumed. They had to shut off most of the auxiliary power supplies to get to the root of the problem, and Trip spent at least thirty minutes finding a way of shielding the distributor so it wouldn't blow the whole armory to pieces while they were isolating its connections with the targeting scanners.

They worked quietly for several hours. Trip had to crouch down inside the console most of time and after a while, of course, his sore back muscles started giving him hell. He tried not to let it show, stretching and massaging his back when T'Pol wasn't looking, but it still slowed him down a lot. The fact that it was rather hot in their crammed corner wasn't helping; Trip actually considered taking off his pullover, but decided against it as he remembered how strangely lop-sided he looked when the bulge on his left wasn't covered up by a thick layer of clothing. So he tried to put up with the heat instead, and stopped from time to time to secretly wipe the sweat off his forehead.

Around this time of the day the armory was rather empty, as most of Reed's personnel had other duties to attend to throughout the ship, and the concentrated silence made Trip forget that he wasn't alone in the room, after all. T'Pol, of course, considered small talk to be illogical, and addressed him only when she needed help with her part of the repairs, but Trip found he wasn't feeling uncomfortable with her silence. After all those hours of "supervising", it felt good to get his hands on some piece of actual machinery and work without his staff hovering anxiously in the background. Trip got so engrossed that he didn't even feel the pain in his back most of the time, and registered the sound of voices talking on a more subconscious level rather than actually noticing them. Apparently some crewmen had returned to the armory, and were now checking the systems on the upper level.

Suddenly, however, some of the words being said penetrated Trip's rapt concentration. And they popped his bubble of peaceful contentment as if someone had poked him with a needle. He swallowed and closed his eyes, telling himself that there was no use in getting upset, that it was best pretending not to have heard, but there was no way he could ignore them. They were simply talking too loud.

"... and to tell the truth, I'm not really surprised, after all. Something like that was bound to happen sooner or later; don't get me wrong, but sometimes you get the impression that the guy is just plain stupid."

A muffled chuckle from the second voice. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I like him okay, but I couldn't picture Reed or the Captain being naive enough to get knocked up in some weird alien mating ritual-"

"For my part I don't believe a word of that." The first voice had taken on a slightly malicious tone. "Box of pebbles, my foot. He screwed one of those aliens, and they made up this crap about telepathic mind games so he wouldn't get in trouble."

A small pause. "Well, I guess he got into trouble, after all." Both sniggered, and Trip bit his lip, fighting the hot anger that was rising at the bottom of his stomach. _Of course_ there would be talk like this, and there was no use in letting it get to him. Sticks and stones, he told himself, just forget about it.

Suddenly, however, there was a third voice, sharp and cutting, and Trip, crawling out from under the console, noticed in dismay that T'Pol had left her working place. He straightened up, his eyes following the direction of her voice, and his heart sank at the sight. T'Pol was on the upper level standing in front of Ensigns Barrie and Crane, both of whom were staring at her in shock, and she was talking in a low, icy tone Trip had heard her use only a few times before.

"Would you care to explain, Ensigns, what this utterly disrespectful and insolent display of insubordination I have just had the misfortune of witnessing was all about?"

As he tried to escape the Subcommander's icy stare, Ensign Barrie's eyes fell on Trip who was still standing at the foot of the ladder leading to the upper level, and his face turned even redder than before. Trip fervently wished T'Pol had never intervened in the first place; the whole situation was unpleasant enough as it was, and now that Barrie and Crane knew he had heard them, there was no way of pretending it had never happened at all.

"Well?" asked T'Pol, who still had her back to Trip, not aware that he was listening. "I am waiting for an explanation."

"Subcommander..." Barrie swallowed. "We didn't mean to... to offend anyone..."

"You did not?" T'Pol's voice sounded dangerously calm. "Not only did you accuse your senior officers of deliberately telling lies, you also spoke in a highly disrespectful tone of Commander Tucker, implying his actions on the alien ship were less than appropriate and downright irresponsible. I do not see how you can claim not meaning to offend anyone."

"Subcommander," Trip said quietly. As he had hoped, T'Pol turned around immediately. Trip met her eyes, shaking his head in an almost imperceptible gesture, and to his great relief she seemed to understand. Her voice, however, was as cold as before when she turned back to the two crewpeople.

"Ensigns, you are both relieved of duty for today. Report to your quarters immediately, and do not leave them for the rest of the shift. I will, of course, talk to Lieutenant Reed and the Captain about your behavior, and it will be up to them to decide on possible consequences." She paused for a moment, then took a small step backwards. "Dismissed."

Barrie and Crane trudged down the stairs, their faces hot and crimson. Barrie didn't look up when they passed Trip, but Crane shot him a quick sideways glance, and he could see that her eyes were bright with tears.

"Sorry, Commander," she whispered before turning away again. Trip only nodded, not knowing what else to do or say. He'd never before felt so miserable and awkward in all his time on Enterprise, not even after the disaster with the alien pollen. Watching the two ensigns leave the room, he had to bite his lip not to follow Crane's example and turn on the waterworks as well. Damn these hormones; they wouldn't even allow him to take a few nasty remarks without falling to pieces. He'd _known_ people would talk like that and worse, so why couldn't he just shrug it off and act as if nothing had happened? It wasn't such a big deal, after all.

Noticing a movement behind him, Trip half-turned to see T'Pol coming down the stairs, her face a mixture of concern and still-present anger. Of course, her rigid features didn't express anything at all, but Trip had learned to read the emotions that sometimes showed in the Vulcan eyes. And right now they did definitely show.

"That wasn't necessary, you know." He said it very quietly, but of course T'Pol had no trouble understanding him. She raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed it was, Commander. Insubordination is a serious offense, and cannot be tolerated aboard the ship."

"But it didn't do any good." He bit his lip. "You should've ignored them. Now there's gonna be heaps of trouble, and no one'll be any the happier."

T'Pol was silent for a moment. "Commander," she said then, speaking in the quiet, measured voice that was so typical of her. "Do you suggest I ignore it when someone raises false and unjust accusations against a fellow officer?"

Trip stared at her. Only three weeks ago T'Pol had said almost the same things as Barrie and Crane, in a more refined, Vulcan way of course, and now she was showing honest anger towards people who were spreading gossip about him? He opened his mouth, meaning to ask her about it, when suddenly the door slid open again. And the sight of the person standing in the doorframe immediately took Trip's mind off everything else.

"Commander." Phlox's voice sounded deadly calm and controlled. The doctor was clearly furious. "Your shift ended more than three hours ago. Why, may I ask, are you here working on Mr. Reed's targeting scanners?"

Startled into telling the truth, Trip said the first thing that came to his mind. "I – I didn't think you'd find out, doc."

A moment later he could have kicked himself. Phlox' face was positively swelling with anger, and Trip realized his little remark had gotten him into even more trouble than he was already in. Assuming, of course, that this was possible.

"Commander," Phlox repeated slowly, and coming from him the word sounded more like a threat than a title, "do you remember our little discussion in sickbay a week ago?"

Trip nodded, staring down at his hands.

"And do you remember what I told you about your responsibilities as a parent?"

At that, Trip raised his head. The words "I'm not a parent" immediately sprang to his mind, but for some reason he kept his mouth shut.

"Well?" Phlox asked sharply, and Trip nodded again.

"I told you you were not allowed to work more than four hours a day, but you apparently decided you were the medical expert aboard this ship, and disregarded my orders despite the fact that you promised both me and the Captain not to do anything that could hurt either you or the child!" Phlox took a deep breath. "Do you know just how irresponsible that was?"

T'Pol looked at him, both her eyebrows raised so they almost disappeared under her bangs. "You told me the doctor had given you permission to extend your working time at own assessment?"

"Imagine that." Phlox came a few steps closer, his eyes glittering beadily. "And I bet you assured your colleagues that you were feeling perfectly fine, and that it was no problem at all to work a full shift. Didn't you?"

Trip didn't answer.

"Didn't you?" Phlox repeated a little louder, and suddenly Trip felt something in him snap. He'd managed to maintain control before, when Barrie and Crane had left the room, but now he'd just about had enough.

"Yes I did," he said, matching the doctor's raised tone and glare. "I did, okay? Happy now? Why can't everybody jus' give me a minute's peace without followin' me around or pokin' their noses into my business, or makin' up stories how I got into this damn fix? I didn't ask for it, okay?"

To his dismay Trip noticed that his eyes were getting blurry, and he angrily wiped the tears off. He didn't want anyone to think he was asking for pity; he just wanted them to finally leave him alone. T'Pol spoke up, talking in that deliberately calm tone she always used when things were getting too emotional for her tastes, and which never failed to drive Trip up the wall.

"There was a rather unpleasant incident concerning Ensigns Barrie and Crane. They assumed they were alone in the room, and spoke in a rude and disrespectful way of Commander Tucker and his... situation."

"You don't have to tell him," Trip snapped, and T'Pol's eyebrows climbed even higher.

"Calm yourself, Commander. There is no need to become agitated."

Trip was about to give a sharp reply when he felt Phlox' hand coming to rest on his shoulder. To his surprise Trip noticed that the anger had vanished from the doctor's face.

"Commander. You've had a pretty busy day, and I can imagine that you're feeling tired and irritated. Why don't we just go to sickbay, take a few scans, and then you can go and get some sleep. What do you say?"

Trip's first response would have been to shake Phlox' hand off, but at the same time he realized that most of the anger he felt was directed towards himself. Here he'd promised himself not to let himself go about these damn moods, and then he went and shouted at Phlox and T'Pol who were only trying to help. He took a deep breath, trying to speak in a normal voice as he answered.

"Sounds like a good idea, doc."

Phlox smiled, giving Trip's shoulder a slight squeeze before letting go. "There you go."

Following the doctor to the door, Trip threw an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

"Looks like we'll have to finish the repairs another time, Subcommander."

"Do not worry." T'Pol's voice was unusually soft as she answered. "Try to get some rest, Commander."

On their way to the turbolift Trip felt himself gradually becoming calmer, his upset emotions giving way to a feeling of shame. It hadn't been necessary to make such a scene, embarrassing both T'Pol and the doctor. It wasn't their fault some crewmen couldn't keep their opinions to themselves, and besides, Phlox was right to be angry at him. He'd broken his promise, pushed all other considerations out of his mind because he'd wanted to tinker around with some machinery. Casting a glance at the doctor's back, Trip thought that probably some kind of apology was in order. He sighed. Apologizing wasn't really one of his strong sides.

"Erm, doc..."

Phlox turned his head. "Yes, Commander?" he asked amiably enough. Trip cleared his throat.

"Look... I'm sorry I shouted at you. You were right about... those responsibilities, and I'm sorry I forgot."

Phlox nodded. "I'm glad you say so, Commander. It is crucial that you understand the importance of my medical orders, both to your health and the health of the child. And I understand this condition demands a lot of strength, physically and emotionally. So don't worry about getting a little emotional from time to time. It is to be expected."

Trip nodded. "No hard feelings, doc?"

Phlox smiled. "No hard feelings." Trip grinned with relief, but right that moment Phlox turned around again, and his face was dead serious as he spoke.

"I will, of course, confer with the Captain as to what disciplinary measure he thinks appropriate for your disobedience to my medical orders. Don't think you can get away with it, Commander."

Trip sighed. Yeah, _definitely _one of those days.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Phaser Lady, Ocean, Emiliana Keladry, Luna (wow, thank you!), Gabi, The Libran Iniquity, akin, JM9, Rinne and kelsey for reviewing!

On with Chapter 7... please read and review!

-----------------------------

Chapter 7

Trip closed the door of Engineering behind him, holding on to the handle as a familiar feeling of dizziness swept over him, blurring his surroundings to a haze of unidentifiable colors and shapes. He blinked to clear his vision, and at the same time felt a sharp pain stinging behind his forehead as the corridor slowly regained its normal appearance.

Trip sighed. Today at work he'd stumbled and would have crashed into his desk if Kelly hadn't caught him, just because these damn dizzy spells always chose to occur in the wrong place at the wrong time. All he could do was sit down or grab hold of something and wait for the giddy feeling to disappear.

All in all, the last six days had been rather exhausting. He'd spent a day off duty in his quarters after Phlox had caught him doing extra work in the armory - the doctor had suggested Trip stay in sickbay as an additional disciplinary measure, but luckily the Captain had talked him out of it. Trip hated to admit it, but he'd rather welcomed the chance to get a good twelve hours of sleep. He often felt so tired these days he could hardly keep his eyes open.

The child had almost doubled in size since Trip had first felt its movements more than a week ago. The bulge on his side had now reached the size of a basketball, and Trip often felt like he had a bag of stones tied to his waist. When he looked at himself in the mirror (which he tended to avoid these days) he had to admit that there was no denying the fact anymore that he looked pregnant, baggy pullovers or no. Phlox had said that the period of most intensive growth was probably over, but this fact – or rather guess - wasn't much of a consolation to Trip. It would still take about three weeks until his delivery, and even though Trip certainly wasn't looking forward to that day, three weeks were still quite a lot of time if one had to put up with an alien pregnancy. The doctor had recommended several times that Trip stop working in Engineering, but up until now Trip had always been able to convince the Captain that sitting in his quarters all day would simply drive him nuts.

Carefully, Trip let go of the door handle, and felt rather relieved as he noticed that the feeling had returned into his legs. Involuntarily, he tugged at his pullover, pulling it down and at the same time briefly placing a hand on the bulge. Sometimes, when he was alone in his quarters, he would lay a hand on it and wait for her to move, smiling when he finally felt those short gentle nudges. On some of those occasions he even allowed himself to think of what was going to happen. After. In the beginning he'd never wasted a thought to that, simply pushing it out of his mind because he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it. Now, however, that the time when he would _have_ to deal with it was drawing close, he couldn't help but wonder. What was going to happen, _how_ was it going to happen (he hadn't found the nerve yet to ask Phlox about it, and the doctor was prudently keeping his mouth shut), and what the hell was he going to do then. Trip had several times started to write a letter home, trying to explain what had happened, but every time when he read it through he pictured his family reading it, his mother, father, brother and sisters, and he couldn't bring himself to hit the "send" button. How was he supposed to explain all of this in a letter? He wasn't very good at putting his thoughts down at the best of times, and telling his family about his visit to the Xyrillian ship and what had happened afterwards in a short note was probably not a good idea.

There was one thing, however, that had troubled him the most, kept him awake at night and popped up in his thoughts whenever he was feeling down, that he didn't have to worry about anymore. Of course, as time went by, Archer had been forced to send his report to Starfleet, and of course this report had raised one hell of a commotion in Headquarters. Forrest had called in the middle of the night (Earth's time and ship's time) and asked whether Jon thought it appropriate to use official Starfleet reports for his private jokes. He'd refused to believe the truth until Archer had summoned Trip, who, tired and with mussed-up hair from sleeping, confirmed the crazy story by lifting his shirt and letting the Admiral take a look himself.

As embarrassing as the whole conversation had been, it had at the same time taken a great weight off Trip's soul. When Forrest had recovered from his first shock, he had not, as Trip had expected, given immediate orders for him to return to Earth, but had even expressed his hopes that Trip wasn't going to quit Starfleet after this.

"We need you out there, Commander," Forrest had told him. "We can't afford to order you back, and I don't think it would be a good idea for you to, er, try and raise this child on Earth. And out there you still have a chance, however small it may be, to run across the, hm, mother's species once again and try to... settle things."

Of course, he'd said, a starship wasn't the ideal place to raise children, but this case was a little different. "And it's not like it's never been done before," he'd added. "Just think of the boomer families."

Both Trip and Archer saw that the Admiral, a quite distinguished and traditional man, was feeling very uncomfortable discussing the pregnancy of Enterprise's Chief Engineer, and Jon, taking pity on his flustered superior, had soon cut the connection after exchanging some final formalities. Afterwards, Trip had almost cried with relief. He'd thought that with his decision not to undergo the operation he'd ended his career as Chief Engineer, and hearing that Starfleet was more than willing to let him stay on Enterprise was the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time.

Still, there was the problem that this business wasn't going to be over after the delivery. It would be his responsibility to care for the baby, an alien child from a species they knew nearly nothing about. When he sat in his quarters, staring out the window at the stars, Trip tried to get used to the thought. He would be the one person this child was going to have to rely on, her father, or mother, or both. It wouldn't be enough to simply care for her. If Xyrillian children were any similar to human children in their feelings and needs, he would have to learn to _love_ her.

At one time Trip had even taken a padd and written down a list of girls' names, underlining the ones he liked best. When he'd realized what he was doing, however – _picking a name for the child, his child_ - he'd quickly shut off the padd, stuffed it into the bottom compartment of his desk and slammed the drawer shut. The underlined names, however, had somehow stuck in his mind, and he kept catching himself thinking about them, discarding some and adding new ones to his mental list.

This, of course, was nothing he could talk to his friends about. Jon had, at one time, carefully asked him about how he was going to handle things after the child was born, but Trip had acted as if he hadn't really given any thought to that yet, not ready to discuss in public what he was still having trouble thinking about in private. Somewhere at the back of his mind, however, he was aware that very soon all these things were going to become very public indeed, and that he would have to be ready to deal with it.

At the moment, however, he needed all his strength to simply deal with the present, and so he mostly pushed these considerations away, trying to get through another day without thinking too much about the future.

As he walked down the corridor towards the turbolift, Trip became aware of the dull ache in his stomach. It was nothing new; throughout the past week he'd been experiencing the feeling almost constantly, and it seemed that no matter how much he ate he never appeared to have had enough. Phlox hadn't been too happy when Trip had told him; he'd prescribed additional vitamin shots and had advised Trip to try and increase his calorie intake to an optimum level. Trip didn't really know how that was supposed to work; these days, it sometimes seemed to him like all he ever did was eating, and he had no idea where the heck all the stuff was going. At his last appointment in sickbay, Phlox had discovered that Trip's own body had even lost several pounds over the last seven days, which of course didn't show as the bulge was getting bigger and bigger.

"Commander!"

Trip turned around at the sound of the voice, and saw Malcolm coming up the corridor behind him.

"Hey Malcolm."

The Lieutenant smiled, falling into pace beside him. "How was work in Engineering today?"

"Fine. We finally found out what's wrong with those EPS conduits on E-deck. Hess and her team're gonna take care of it this afternoon."

"Good." Malcolm fell silent again, and there was a short, not-quite-tense pause. Trip sighed inwardly. He knew Malcolm was still feeling bad about what had happened a week ago in the armory, and was consequently trying to make very polite, very forced conversation whenever they met. Trip had told him several times that he didn't blame him for his staff's actions in the slightest, but Malcolm being Malcolm of course took the blame for everything that went wrong inside his department (and outside, but that was another matter), and still seemed to feel that he had to make up for his staff's behavior.

"I've considered what you said about Barrie's and Crane's personal files," Malcolm said abruptly as if he'd been reading Trip's thoughts. "I've decided to do what you suggested and remove the reprimands." He looked as if he'd tasted something really sour. "I still don't think they should get away so easily, but if it is your express wish I certainly won't stand in the way."

Trip smiled. "Glad to hear it."

When Malcolm had first heard about what had transpired in the armory, his initial reaction had been to suggest an immediate transfer for his two crewpeople. Archer and Trip had managed to talk him out of it, but they hadn't been able to keep him from marching straight to Barrie's and Crane's quarters, and giving both ensigns the worst dressing-down in Starfleet history. Both crewmen had been in tears afterwards, or at least that was what Trip had been told. Considering the fact, however, that Malcolm could be very mean and caustic when provoked, he was inclined to believe the rumors. Malcolm had also assigned them each a week of double-duty, and had written sharp reprimands into their personal files. Trip, knowing that such a reprimand could very easily destroy your career forever, had asked Malcolm to reconsider. It wasn't that he wasn't angry, but in the meantime his initial anger and hurt had cooled down a little, allowing him to consider the fact that both ensigns were very young, and probably hadn't thought much before speaking their minds.

Malcolm, of course, hadn't been willing to take any of these things into consideration, and had even made Barrie and Crane go and apologize to Trip, which had been very embarrassing for everyone concerned, including Malcolm himself.

Still, hearing that Malcolm had decided to remove the reprimands made Trip feel a little better about the whole unpleasant incident. At least there were no careers going to go down the drain about it.

"So... you're going to movie night tonight?" Malcolm asked, startling Trip out of his thoughts. Glad for the change of subject, Trip nodded.

"Yeah... Hoshi told me they're showin' a comedy."

He never heard Malcolm's reply. All of a sudden the dizzy feeling of before came back full force, and the corridor disappeared behind a blurred haze of colors. Trip swayed, and at the same time felt a hand grab his right arm.

"Commander!" Malcolm's startled cry seemed to come from very far away, and Trip felt his legs give way under him. His vision still hadn't cleared again, and he stumbled, blindly grabbing for hold as he lost his balance. Someone, presumably Malcolm, caught him, and Trip felt himself being gently lowered to the floor. He heard Malcolm getting up, and the sound of footsteps as he walked over to the intercom, then the pounding in his head got too loud for him to hear anything else.

XXX

"He's waking up."

The voice came from somewhere above his head. Trip's mind, still swimming up from the depths of unconsciousness, only gradually took in the meaning of the words, and it took him another moment to realize that they were talking about him. Carefully, he prized his lids apart, only to squeeze them shut again as the sudden bright light hurt his eyes.

"Trip!"

Jon's voice. He sounded worried. Trip wanted to tell him that everything was okay, but to do so, he realized, he would have to open his eyes. This time he was prepared for the brightness, and managed to keep his eyes open, blinking as his surroundings slowly came into focus.

He was lying on a bed in sickbay, surrounded by Phlox, Jon and Malcolm who were peering down at him with worried looks on their faces. Trip blinked again, attempting a smile.

"Hey."

"Trip," Jon repeated, obviously relieved. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Trip said automatically, then winced as he felt a sharp pain behind his forehead. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light, and at the same time noticed an IV tube implanted in the crook of his arm. He looked at the doctor. "What's this for?"

Phlox voice sounded mild, but Trip noticed a thin line between the doctor's brows that deepened as he spoke. "You're suffering from an acute nutrient deficiency, Commander. I'm trying to replenish your supplies by giving you intravenously the nutrients your body needs the most at the moment."

"Nutrient deficiency?" Trip frowned. "Doc, I swear I followed that diet plan of yours to the letter, and-"

"I know." Phlox looked down at him, and Trip couldn't help but notice that the doctor looked worried. Really worried. "Apparently there has been a development I wasn't expecting." He paused. "Commander... what I'm going to tell you now falls under doctor-patient confidentiality. So if you'd rather discuss this in private..." He trailed off, casting a sideways glance at Jon and Malcolm. Malcolm instantly made as if to leave, but Trip shook his head. Jon was his best friend and superior, it was only natural that he would stay, but Trip wanted Malcolm to stay as well. That evening in the messhall Malcolm had shown that he cared what happened to Trip, cared more than just a colleague or poker buddy would, and Trip wanted to return that trust. Malcolm gave him an unsure look, still looking ready to leave, and Trip held his gaze. After a moment Malcolm relented, returning to Trip's bedside where he'd been standing before. He didn't smile – Malcolm wasn't really given to running around with a grin on his face all day long – but his eyes had grown a little softer as he returned his attention to Phlox.

"What is it, doc?" Jon urged, and Trip looked back at Phlox as well. The line between the doctor's brows had even deepened, making his friendly face look unusually stern.

"It seems that the Xyrillian male's body is more different from the human body than I thought. During the last one and a half weeks the child has grown at a rapid speed - as you will have noticed - and of course this stadium of extreme growth makes tremendous demands on the host's body. Apparently in a "real" Xyrillian pregnancy the host's body produces certain hormones which simultaneously reduce its own needs and increase the production of vital enzymes. Those enzymes in turn speed up the body's metabolic rate. It is the only explanation I can come up with how the Xyrillian body is able to deal with such extreme physical stress."

"What's the point, doc?" Trip tried not to sound impatient. He had an idea where Phlox was going with his explanation, and he didn't like it at all. The doctor folded his hands, resting them on the edge of the bed.

"The point, Commander, is that your body is not able to do all these things. Your human physiology cannot deal with such stress. The child absorbs a great part of the vital nutrients you consume, and since you cannot speed up your metabolism there is no way you can eat or drink enough to provide enough nutrients for both you and the child."

"So that was why I was feelin' so dizzy and tired all the time," Trip said more to himself, then felt the immediate urge to clap his hand over his mouth. He hadn't really mentioned the dizzy spells when talking to the doc, downplaying them the best he could so Phlox wouldn't put his foot down and ban him from working in Engineering once and forever. The doctor, however, for once didn't comment but simply nodded.

"That's right. Your repeated morning sickness has the same cause." Trip felt his cheeks grow hot, and deliberately avoided looking at Jon and Malcolm.

"Doc... what exactly does this mean?" Archer asked, worry evident in his tone. "Is there something you can do?"

Phlox sighed. "To be quite honest with you, Captain, no there isn't. Except..."

Phlox hesitated, and Trip watched the doctor's face. He knew Phlox was going to say something he didn't like, and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't like it either.

"Except what, doc?"

"Commander..." Phlox looked down at him, a mixture of worry and compassion on his face as he continued. "It will still take about three weeks until I will be able to... get the child out of your body without hurting it. A few days earlier it will start detaching itself from your pericardium, and only when the process of detaching is more or less complete the child will be able to survive on its own. But... "

"What?" Archer asked sharply. Trip heard Malcolm swallow.

"As I said, the strain on the host's body is very great. The symptoms will intensify as the child continues to sap his energy, and in about two weeks the Commander will have reached a critical state of physical weakness."

"Critical?" Archer repeated quietly, his eyes never leaving Phlox' face. "As in... fatal?"

Phlox took a deep breath. "Captain..."

Archer shook his head, indicating that he didn't want any of the doctor's optimistic assurances right now.

"The truth, doc."

Phlox sighed. "There is a possibility of about seventy percent that the Commander's body will not be able to cope with the stress. His metabolism simply wasn't made to provide nutrition for another life form, and especially not for a life form which grows from an embryo to a baby in only seven weeks. His condition will soon become very dangerous."

Trip propped himself up on his elbow, forgetting all about his headache and still slightly upset stomach. "You can't know that."

Phlox turned his head to look at him. "No, Commander, I can't know for sure. These are merely estimations I made based upon what little data I have. At first I assumed your body would be able to adapt to the stress, but I apparently underestimated the role the enzymes I told you about play in a normal Xyrillian pregnancy. As you said, I can't know for sure. But I can make a prognosis, and in this case the odds are against us. Very much so, Commander." Again, he paused, and his voice sounded very quiet when he continued. "We cannot afford to take any chances on what is going to happen."

Trip sat up straight, ignoring the slight blurs at the edge of his vision as his body protested against the quick movement. "What are you sayin', doc?"

He already knew, of course. Phlox sad face was an answer in itself.

"We'll have to... perform the operation, after all. And I suggest we do it quickly, before the child has grown too big."

Trip gripped the edge of the bed. Part of his mind noticed Malcolm's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, Archer's voice saying something in a very quiet tone, but the greater part of him was hearing nothing, feeling nothing. He was lost. All these past weeks he had endured the ups and downs of his moods, had fought not to let his hormones carry him away, but now, this very moment, his mind was blank. Strange, that it would be so; he'd have expected himself to react stronger to what the doctor had just told him. Instead, he felt – nothing.

"No," he heard himself say, surprised at the word. "No," he repeated, and somehow it helped him focus. "No way I let you do this."

"Commander." Phlox' voice sounded pained, and Trip felt sorry for the doc, this being the only emotion he found himself able to experience. His mind had shut out every other feeling, wrapping his thoughts in a protective layer of numbness. "Your body wasn't meant to be the host of a child. I very much approved of your initial decision not to undergo the operation, but this is different. You'll die in the process of carrying the child to term."

"No."

"Trip." Archer moved into his visual range, and Trip registered the regret and worry on his face without really seeing it. "I understand how you feel about it, but what the doctor told us leaves us no choice." He put a hand on Trip's shoulder, squeezing it. "I'm sorry."

Trip shook his head, shaking off their hands as he slid off the edge of the biobed. Why couldn't they understand? It wasn't like there was any choice to be made.

"No," he repeated, moving away from the biobed, relieved that his legs felt steady enough to carry him. "I'm not gonna let you do this."

"Commander..."

Trip fixed his eyes on Malcolm, ignoring Phlox, talking to him as if there were no one else present. "Remember what you told me? That time in messhall? You said it was wrong to let her suffer the consequences. And it wouldn't be any different, y'know? It's not her fault I don't have those hormones. Or that my body can't provide enough nutrients for both of us. She didn't ask for this either. And I'm not gonna let her suffer for it."

"Commander-" Malcolm began, but Trip cut him off.

"Don't tell me it's different. I know it isn't." He stood there for a moment, still feeling drained. Of thoughts, emotions, anything. Jon, Phlox and Malcolm were looking at him, but he couldn't decide whether their faces expressed pity, or something else. It didn't matter, either.

Trip turned around, a familiar ache making itself felt as he walked towards the door. As he pressed the button to open the door, he heard Archer's voice say his name, but he didn't turn to look at him. Focusing on the pain in his back, Trip managed to leave sickbay without letting any emotions near him. All the way to his quarters he concentrated on that ache, losing himself in the sensation, and only when the door had slid shut behind him Trip sat down on his bed, and began to cry.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to tracy-thecubednag, JM9, Ocean, The Libran Iniquity, Emiliana Keladry, luna, Exploded Pen, TripGirl05 (thank you so much! I don't mind long reviews, the longer the better! -g-), plumtuckered, Rinne and Quickbeam1 for reviewing!

Here's Chapter 8 and as always... please read and review ;-)!

Chapter 8

Trip had expected there would be arguments. Long, exhausting discussions as to why and for what reason, attempts to make him reconsider, maybe even irritated questions: Why wouldn't he listen to reason. Why couldn't he face reality and do what had to be done.

What he had not expected, however, was Jon coming to his quarters an hour later, sitting down next to him, quietly offering him a kleenex and telling him it was okay. No fights, no argument; just like that.

"I talked to Phlox," Jon had told him. "He said it was your decision. If that really is what you want, he'll do everything in his power to help you."

Trip could see that Jon was swallowing hard while saying this, clenching his hands around the box of kleenex so tightly his knuckles turned white. His body language was practically screaming "I don't want you to do this", but he never said a word. Trip then realized how lucky he was to have Jonathan Archer for a friend.

The doctor had kept his word. Of course, Trip hadn't been allowed to continue work in Engineering, but to his great relief Phlox had agreed to let him stay in his quarters. On the strict condition, of course, that Trip stayed in bed and promised not to spend half the time working at his computer. At first, Trip had only reluctantly agreed to these restrictions, but he soon realized that lying around on his bunk was about all he could do without starting to feel dizzy and wobbly-legged after only a few minutes time. Phlox had installed an IV in Trip's quarters, and even though Trip could, of course, take the bag with him when he got up, the doctor had advised him to lie still most of the time so the medication could flow evenly. Trip hated having a tube attached to him for a longer period of time, but he wasn't really in the position to complain. His body was in desperate need of the additional nutrients, and it was crucial that he did not detach himself from the IV for any reason whatsoever.

Under these rather constricted conditions, Trip had spent the last five days sleeping, reading or simply staring into nothingness, letting his thoughts drift. The forced inactivity didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would; he always fell asleep before he got really bored. Besides, there was a more or less uninterrupted stream of visitors coming to see him, and he often woke up to see one of his friends sitting at his bedside.

On the sixth day of his official sick leave Trip woke up to find himself in a very bad mood. His stomach was protesting against last night's dinner, and he barely managed to take the IV bag out of its holder before he stumbled into the head, not a second too soon either. It was the first time in several days that he experienced such a severe attack of nausea, and Trip wasn't very excited at the idea that it was going to start again.

Afterwards, Trip slowly straightened up again, feeling his back ache with the strain, and crept back to his bed, sitting down on the edge of the bunk and waiting for the dizziness to pass. It took about five minutes until his quarters had again assumed their normal shape, and when he felt safe to move again, Trip carefully lay down on his side and closed his eyes. He knew he was supposed to reattach the IV bag to the holder above his head, but the simple act of sitting up seemed to be way beyond his possibilities at the time. He found himself drifting, and was just about to slip away into an uneasy sleep when a gentle kick in his side brought him back. Trip sighed, laying a hand on the bulge, and turned slightly. The kick repeated itself, not quite so gently this time, and startled Trip back to full awareness.

"Hey, it's okay," he muttered without opening his eyes, groping for his blanket to cover himself. "I know I woke you up, but that's no reason to kick me in the stomach when I'm feelin' sick."

"Who are you talking to, Commander?" Phlox' voice said all of a sudden, causing Trip to start badly and open his eyes. The doctor was standing in front of his bed, hands placed on his hips, and a slight frown appeared on his face when he saw the IV lying on the bed instead of hanging at its rightful place above Trip's bunk. Trip briefly closed his eyes again, exhaling deeply.

"D'you have to sneak up on me like that, doc?"

"And good morning to you too, Commander." Phlox picked up the bag and fastened it to the holder, careful to straighten the tube so that the flow of medication was even again. "I _told_ you not to leave the IV lying around somewhere, but always attach it back to the holder. You could fall asleep on the tube and cut off the flow, and we don't want that, do we?"

Trip carefully pulled himself into a sitting position, feeling some of the dizziness return as he did so. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Commander," Phlox said mildly, and Trip wished the doctor hadn't chosen this early hour to be so annoying. The doctor drew himself a chair, took a seat and pulled out a handscanner.

"Well, seems like we felt a little sick this morning, didn't we?" Phlox smiled. What's the we part, Trip thought grumpily. He didn't say anything though, and only nodded when Phlox raised his eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, a little. Left me feelin' kinda dizzy, too."

Phlox nodded. "Please take off your shirt, Commander."

Trip sighed, but did as he was told. One of Phlox' conditions before he'd agreed to let Trip stay in his quarters had been that he dropped by for house calls at least twice a day. And since the doctor hardly ever slept himself, he didn't seem to know or care that the early morning wasn't the best time to visit a human patient. Especially not when that patient was Trip.

As the doctor began to carefully palpate the bulge on his side, Trip stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the feeling of unease he always experienced during these examinations. He knew they were necessary, of course, but it still made him feel rather self-conscious to remove the clothing that usually covered up the bulge. And no matter how often he told himself he was being silly, Trip couldn't help the fact that he was feeling embarrassed. Still.

"Someone else seems to be awake as well," Phlox interrupted his thoughts. Trip knew he was referring to the baby's movements, and sighed theatrically to cover up the warmth that was rising in his cheeks.

"You could say so. She's been kickin' me all mornin'. Looks like we're gonna have ourselves a busy day."

Phlox smiled, running his scanner over the bulge. "These are good news, Commander. It does seem like the bed rest and the additional nutrients have stabilized your condition somewhat." He shut off the scanner, leaning back in his chair. "And the child seems to be in perfectly good health. I should have stopped your working in Engineering a lot sooner."

Trip shook his head. He didn't want the doctor to blame himself for his condition. "I wasn't bein' perfectly honest with you either. I shoulda told you about these dizzy spells, but..."

He trailed off, and Phlox regarded him with an expression close to weary amusement. "I guess we are both somewhat to blame. Well, as Subcommander T'Pol would say, it is illogical to feel guilty about what has already happened. We cannot change it anyway."

Trip met the doctor's eyes, and they shared a moment of quiet understanding. Trip hadn't forgotten that it had been Phlox who had first decided to respect his wishes concerning the operation, and wished he could find the right words to thank the doctor for his understanding and tolerance.

It wasn't easy, given the fact that he and Phlox generally went to great trouble to drive each other up the walls, and that he was, according to Phlox, the most troublesome patient ever to have entered his sickbay. Second to Malcolm, of course, whose private feud with the doctor had reached an almost legendary status.

"Doc..."

Phlox raised his eyebrows at him. "Yes, Commander?"

Trip hesitated, not sure what he was going to say. "I... I jus' wanted to say, I appreciate what you're doin'."

Phlox seemed surprised. "I am only doing my job, Commander."

Trip shook his head, impatient with himself for not being able to find the right words. "I mean, for bein' so understandin' about the operation. And for puttin' up with all this trouble." He gestured at himself, his surroundings. Phlox had his hands folded in his lap, regarding Trip with a strange expression on his face.

"Commander, I do not know how much you know about Denobulan medicine in general. According to our code of ethics, the patient's will is the most important criterion when making decisions in the line of duty. Even when..." He paused, then continued quietly. "Even when the patient's wishes will possibly lead to his death."

Trip nodded slowly. He understood what Phlox was trying to tell him. "Doc... I have no intention of changin' my mind about this. You'll remember that when I'm... not in the condition to remind you, won't you?"

Phlox held his gaze. "If that is what you wish, Commander."

Trip paused. "Will she be able to survive even when I'm..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but Phlox understood.

"I will probably be able to keep you alive until she'll be able to survive on her own." His voice sounded sad when he said it, but the only thing Trip felt was relief. He'd been worried about that. At times it surprised him how little the prospect of his possible death shook him up. Somehow, his mind seemed to have accepted the fact that there was no other way if he wanted to make sure she was safe. And keep her safe he would.

"But as I said, Commander, I cannot be sure what is going to happen. Your condition has improved considerably over the last few days, and your body might just as well regain enough strength to be able to deal with the stress."

Trip knew that Phlox, while he wasn't lying, was trying to sound optimistic for his patient's benefit. Granted, his condition had improved, but he still got that light-headed feeling every time he left his bed, or even sat up for a longer period of time. He could practically feel his strength being drained away, and at times when he was lying in his bed he felt like he was floating, looking down at himself from a spot right below the ceiling. But what use was there in telling Phlox? The doctor probably knew already, and why give up pretending they both didn't know quite well what was going to happen. Sometimes a little pretending could make life, everyday interaction a lot easier.

Phlox pulled out a hypospray, holding it against the light to check its contents.

"This will make you very sleepy," he said. "I'll be back in the afternoon to check on you. Try to get some rest."

Trip felt the cool touch of the hypo against his neck, and only a moment later the warm feeling behind his eyelids increased, scrambling his thoughts and making his arms and legs go very heavy. He felt his blankets being pulled over him, and saw Phlox get up to change the IV bag which was almost empty again.

"Sleep well, Commander," the doctor said, smiling, as he noticed Trip watching him. Trip automatically answered his smile, and at the same time felt sleep wrap itself around him like a warm blanket, closing his eyes and allowing him to drift away.

XXX

When Trip woke up again, he saw Jon sitting on the chair formerly occupied by Phlox, reading one of his old paperbacks. The Captain looked like he had been here for quite a while; his feet were resting on the edge of Trip's bunk, and there was an empty plate and a cup sitting on the table next to him. He seemed so intent on his reading that he never noticed when Trip opened his eyes.

Trip blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the heaviness that always followed one of Phlox' sleep-inducing injections. He felt like he had been sleeping for several hours, and a look at his bedside clock confirmed that it was indeed late in the afternoon. Closing his eyes again, he decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt; somehow he felt even sleepier than he had before. A short yelp from below made him start and open his eyes again. Jon lowered his book, glancing down at something on the floor.

"Hey, boy, what-" He looked up. "Trip! You're awake!"

A smile spread on his face, and a moment later Porthos jumped onto the bed, sniffing eagerly and wagging his tail like crazy.

"Porthos!" Jon laid his book aside, reaching for the dog to put him back down, but Trip shook his head.

"That's okay." He smiled as Porthos snuggled up next to him, the dog's little tail still moving back and forth as he settled down on the blankets. Scratching Porthos between the ears, Trip looked back up at Jon. "How long have you been here?"

The Captain shrugged. "A while, I guess." He got up, checking the IV bag, and glanced back down at Trip. "You up to sitting up for a while? I brought you dinner."

Trip realized with some astonishment that he didn't really feel like eating at the moment – he couldn't remember the last time when he had felt _not_ hungry – but he nodded all the same. Carefully, Archer pulled out Trip's pillow from underneath him, plumped it up and set it up against the head of the bed. Then he helped Trip sit up, making sure he was securely supported before he let go of his arm. Trip felt wearily amused; Jon tended to switch to motherhen mode when he was worried, and there was no use protesting. The movement triggered a faint feeling of giddiness, but to Trip's relief it passed before Jon noticed his momentary disorientation.

"Here," the Captain said, picking up a tray that had been sitting on the floor next to his chair. "Chef said to say hello. He hopes you like the icecream, it's Rocky Road."

Trip lifted the lid off the plate, and together with the steam a smell of mushrooms escaped.

"Mashed potatoes and gravy," Archer said. "There's some more left if you're still hungry after that."

"Thanks." Trip picked up the fork, realizing that he did not feel hungry at all. The only thing he really wanted to do was go back to sleep. But there was no use in upsetting Jon. He carefully scooped up some of the mashed potatoes, trying to ignore the greasy smell of the gravy as he put the fork into his mouth. The food tasted of nothing.

"So... how're you feeling today?" Jon asked, pulling back Porthos whose sniffing nose had appeared at the edge of the tray. "Phlox told me you weren't doing so good this morning."

Trip shrugged. He knew Jon would never laugh at him, but still, his morning sickness wasn't something he liked to discuss with his Captain and best friend.

"It's okay." He ate another fork of potatoes, avoiding the parts that were already soaked with gravy. "Phlox gave me somethin' to help me sleep."

Archer leaned back in his chair, and a short pause followed. "I called your parents this morning," Jon said then, and Trip almost lost his grip on the fork.

"You called them?"

Archer nodded. It was nothing unusual for him to call the Tuckers at home; he was almost like a relative to them, after all, and had been invited to several of the yearly family gatherings. This time, however, was different. Trip hadn't spoken to his parents since before his mission to the Xyrillian ship, and Archer knew about the letters he'd started to write but had never had the guts to send.

Trip swallowed. "And... did you tell them about..."

He trailed off. Jon nodded. "We talked for about an hour," he said quietly. "They're both very worried, Trip."

The way he said it, Trip knew it was an understatement. He could picture his parent's reaction going from shock to despair when they had heard about what had happened. To them, space had always been not so much a place full of wonders waiting to be explored, but an unknown thing to be treated with suspicion and distrust. The idea of Jon telling them that their son had been impregnated by an alien, and probably didn't have much time left was something Trip didn't even want to think about. He gave no answer, and Jon continued.

"They want you to call them as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you feel up to it."

Trip stared down at his plate, absentmindedly pulling his fork through the mashed potatoes and watching the gravy fill the furrows he created.

"Are they... I mean..."

"They believe you." Jon paused. "They only want you to... get better, Trip."

Trip understood very well what Jon was trying to tell him. The Captain repeated what his parents had said, but at the same time he was mutely telling Trip that he was feeling the same. Asking him to reconsider without actually mentioning what a decision on Trip's part to "get better" would mean. Jon's few words held as much of a silent plea as he'd ever heard.

"Jon..." Trip looked up, forcing himself to meet the Captain's eyes. "I can't do that. You know I can't."

Jon held his gaze for a long moment. Trip saw the pain in his eyes, and it hurt to know that he was the cause of that anguish. He'd never wanted to hurt Jon, or his parents, for that matter – it was the last thing he wanted to do. He only wished he could make them understand.

"I know," Jon said after a while, his voice sounding hoarse. "It's just... hell, Trip... I don't want to lose you!"

He covered his eyes with one hand, and Trip swallowed again, feeling his own throat grow dry. He so wished he could tell his friend that it was going to be okay, agree to do the thing that Jon was determinedly not asking of him, but he couldn't. So he simply sat there, feeling miserable and helpless until Jon lowered his hand again. Archer was visibly fighting for his voice to sound normal as he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Trip. I don't want to make this harder for you than it already is. You've made your decision, and..."

I accept it, he'd probably been about to say, but somehow the words never made it out. He cleared his throat, then put on a strained smile, gesturing at the tray.

"Well... aren't you going to eat your icecream?"

Trip stared down at the bowl. In the meantime the white mass had turned into an sticky white goo with light-brown bits representing the hazelnuts. He picked up his spoon, carefully scooping up some of the melted icecream. It wasn't easy to swallow it; his stomach seemed to resent the mere idea of food, but Trip forced himself to eat another spoon. And another. Archer smiled.

"There you go."

It happened very quickly. All of a sudden the room seemed to stretch, shapes became distorted, multiplied in front of his eyes, and a sharp, searing pain stabbed through his head. Trip gasped, letting go of the spoon, and the clatter as it hit the tray sounded like an explosion in his ears.

"Trip!" Somewhere behind the haze that was clouding his eyes Trip saw Archer jumping up so quickly his chair toppled over. Hands caught his shoulders, then Jon's voice said something about Phlox and the hands were gone again, but Trip couldn't see where Archer was going. The pain in his head grew unbearable, and red blackness ragged his vision. He felt the tray slide from his lap and crash onto the floor next to his bed, then the world tilted and Trip knew no more.

Cutting the connection, Archer was at his friend's bedside in two long strides. Trip lay slumped to the side; face ashen and eyes closed. The tray with the food had fallen to the floor, and the mashed potatoes were spattered everywhere over the deck. His throat constricting with fear, Archer pushed Porthos aside and picked up his friend. When he touched Trip's hand, he noticed that the skin felt strangely clammy. Hands shaking, Archer fumbled for a pulse – and realized with a shock that Trip's breathing had stopped.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to kelsey and Gabi for reviewing Chapter 7 (sorry I forgot you last time!), and to plumtuckered, Gabi (tjaja, Sorgen gibt es genug ;-) ), Ocean (Well, at that time, Trip's sister hasn't been killed yet. Still, you do have a point. But it's not like they simply accept Trip's decision, they just can't order him to decide otherwise. Maybe the actions and re-actions in this chapter will show more clearly how people feel about what is happening to Trip), Elizabeth Annette, Luna, JM9, AquaSox, Emiliana Keladry (Hey, I didn't kill him! Not yet, anyway eg), Quickbeam (I could never resist pleas for mercy ;-). You guessed right, he did have a stroke), Rinne, Maraschino and The Libran Iniquity (hmph... well... at least it wasn't "nervosity" again ;-). Anyway, thanks for pointing it out, and here comes the Aktualisierung!) for reviewing Chapter 8.

Here's Chapter 9... please read and review!

Chapter 9

Medical Log, Chief Medical Officer Phlox:

It is now one week ago that Commander Tucker has suffered the metabolic shock that is causing his current condition. Aside from an acute attack of hypoglycemia the Commander experienced a cardiovascular accident that resulted in a temporary arrest of respiration, and although I was able to revive him in a relatively short amount of time, I am still very worried about his condition. I am currently keeping the Commander under sedation to be able to provide a steady replenishment of his glycogen supplies without exposing his body to any additional stress. The fetus is still in a good state of health, and it will probably take less than two weeks for the child to be fully capable of surviving on its own. Still, the process of detachment from the pericardium has not yet been initiated, and at the moment there is no way of removing the fetus without causing its instant death. If conditions remain unchanged, the Commander will very likely not survive to witness the birth. It is his express wish, however, that I take no action which could harm the child, and so the only thing I can do is try to stabilize his condition to the best of my possibilities.

His head hurt. Malcolm had experienced a certain dull ache behind his forehead all day, and now the ache seemed to have decided to turn into a real, throbbing pain, making it impossible for him to concentrate on the report lying in front of him on the table. He sighed, resting his forehead on his hand, and began to read the same sentence for the third time. The letters blurred before his eyes, and Malcolm blinked, trying to clear his vision. Maybe he ought to go to bed, after all.

Leaning back in his chair, Malcolm looked around messhall, hoping to find something that would distract him from the pain in his head. The reports certainly were no help as far as that was concerned; looking at the small displays for a longer period of time only served to make his eyes burn, and the reports themselves held no surprises for him, anyway. Minor malfunction in the phaser software repaired, target practice for Beta shift postponed, tactical routine of the month revised and filed away.

Should add "no malfunction in the targeting scanners", Malcolm thought, for the first time today feeling a weary smile tug at his lips. After almost three weeks without any trouble he finally allowed himself to believe that maybe the problem had really been the energy flashback. Not that he didn't trust T'Pol's judgement, but after all those month, Malcolm had almost started believing those bloody things were really jinxed.

His head gave another painful throb, and Malcolm briefly closed his eyes. He was tired, but he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to go to sleep with that head ache. These things never went away over night, and waking up with your head pounding like mad was not on Malcolm's list of best ways to start your day.

He could, of course, go down to sickbay and ask Phlox to give him something. Go to see Trip.

Not that Trip would notice, Malcolm thought, pushing the padds away and resting his forehead on his hands. The Commander was still unconscious, still hooked up to those machines that provided his body with nutrition. Phlox said it would help him on a subconscious level to hear familiar voices talking to him, but Malcolm couldn't really see how that was supposed to work. Trip had looked so – dead, the last time Malcolm had gone to see him. So oblivious to everything around him, including his visitors who still spoke in quiet, subdued tones so as not to disturb him. They could just as well have shouted. Trip wasn't going to wake up. And according to Phlox it was going to stay that way until...

...until he died. That's right, Malcolm told himself. Don't try to push it away. Died. _Died_.

He experienced a strange satisfaction, making himself repeat the word so often it lost its meaning. It was a feeling similar to picking at a fresh scratch, wincing when it hurt, and still watching mesmerized when bright red blood emerged from the reopened wound.

It had been so easy for him, sitting right at this table four weeks ago, spouting words of wisdom and morale as if he were entitled to either of those. So damn easy. "You're not alone in this", he'd told the Commander. Such an easy, empty thing to say. And so damn wrong. Trip _was_ alone, he was as alone as one could be, lying down there in sickbay, lost in his own world of drug-induced dreams, and soon even that was going to be taken away from him. Taken away not least because he had listened to the advice of one of his oh-so-well-meaning friends.

Malcolm still didn't know why he hadn't simply left that night, left without poking his nose into Trip's business and making things even worse by trying to be a _friend._ As if he had any right to do so. Granted, Trip had asked him to stay, but this didn't change anything about the fact that Malcolm had broken his own rule number one and made someone else's business his own. And with disastrous results.

He picked up his padd again, staring at the display until his eyes began to water. He needed to finish those reports. If nothing else, he could at least do his job.

The messhall door slid open, but Malcolm didn't raise his head to see who had come. He didn't care. His head was giving him hell, and he still had more than seven of those reports left to read before he could finally leave this place and go to bed. He heard quiet steps walking over to the resequencer, then a woman's voice ordering a drink, but he didn't hear what she said. Returning his attention to the rows of letters in front of him, Malcolm tried to fathom their meaning. It almost seemed like they had been arranged in a random fashion, making no sense at all, and for all he cared they could be. He was so tired.

"Hey."

Hoshi's voice. Malcolm looked up, and saw the young communications officer standing in front of his table, cradling a cup in both hands. "Still busy?"

Malcolm shrugged, wishing he had stayed in his quarters. There, at least, he didn't have to talk to people when he was scarcely able to bear his own company.

"Just some reports I need to have finished by tomorrow."

Hoshi smiled, sitting down next to him, still holding her cup between her palms as if she were trying to warm her hands. "It _is_ tomorrow, Lieutenant." She pointed at the wall chronometer. "It's past midnight already."

Malcolm didn't really know what to say to this, and so he shrugged again, realizing a moment later that this must seem rather rude to Hoshi. "Oh," he added lamely, attempting a smile. "I must have forgotten about the time."

Hoshi raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You always work late, Lieutenant." She took a sip from her drink, and a moment of silence followed. Malcolm knew he should try to say something, keep conversation going, but his mind was blank. His headache had grown even worse, and he couldn't think of a single topic to talk about. Nothing that he _wanted_ to talk about, anyway.

"I went to see Commander Tucker earlier," Hoshi said all of a sudden. Malcolm swallowed. He had no wish to talk about Trip. Didn't want to hear Hoshi telling him how pale and thin the Commander looked, lying on that bed down in sickbay. How terrible she felt about the whole thing. How terrible everyone felt.

Malcolm said nothing, staring down at his hands which were still holding the padd.

"T'Pol was there," Hoshi continued quietly. "She was reading him Engineering reports."

Looking up, Malcolm saw a sad smile crossing Hoshi's face. "She said the doctor had said to talk to Trip, and so..."

She didn't continue, and Malcolm briefly closed his eyes. Somehow, the image of T'Pol sitting next to Trip's biobed reading reports to the unconscious man brought back all the hurt and grief he'd been trying to suppress. The gesture seemed to show just how helpless they all were in the face of what was happening to Trip.

"I'm so sorry, Hoshi," Malcolm said. He didn't know where the words had come from. Somehow he simply needed to say this. Malcolm felt he had no right to go down to Trip and tell him himself, but someone needed to hear that he was sorry. Terribly, terribly sorry for messing with other people's business, and making things worse than they'd been before.

Hoshi regarded him for a moment. "Why would you be sorry?"

Malcolm shook his head. "I talked to him. Right after they were back from the Xyrillian ship. Said he shouldn't let Phlox operate on him. I told him it would be the wrong thing to do." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Can you imagine that? The wrong thing to do. As if there's any right or wrong to this."

"There is." Malcolm looked up, and saw Hoshi's eyes resting on him with the same quiet, slightly sad expression they had held before when she'd told him about T'Pol.

"What do you mean?"

"Malcolm." Hoshi let go of her cup, reaching over the table and carefully laying her hand on his. "Do you really think Trip would have decided against the operation – twice – if he hadn't believed that he was doing the right thing? Phlox told him what was going to happen, and he still refused to undergo surgery. I bet he was glad you talked to him. I can't imagine what it must have been like, having to make this decision. I'm sure he was glad there was someone who listened."

Malcolm averted his eyes. "I had no right to tell him what to do."

"Malcolm." Her grip on his hand grew firmer. "You didn't tell him what to do. You talked to him because he needed a friend who listened. There is nothing wrong with that. Or did you make fun of him, and say things you don't mean just to see how he'd react?"

That made him look back at her. "Of course not!"

Hoshi's face didn't change. "I didn't think so. No one could know what was going to happen, Malcolm. Not even Dr.Phlox. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and no one would ever blame you. I know Trip wouldn't."

Malcolm said nothing. He would never be able to ask Trip whether he blamed him or not. What Hoshi said sounded right; hell, he'd been trying to tell himself the same things, but somehow it didn't really help. Even if he wasn't to blame, even if _no one_ was, Trip was still going to die. And it wasn't right. Not at all.

He felt Hoshi's fingers let go of his hand, and for a moment he regretted the loss of contact. Her hand was so warm, and his fingers were cold from gripping the edge of report padds for too long.

"I'm worried about the Captain," Hoshi said. "He hardly talks to anyone these days. T'Pol told me he hasn't been eating, either."

"It must be hard for him. Trip is his best friend, after all."

Hoshi nodded, staring into her cup. Malcolm thought of the Captain, sitting at the Commander's bedside hour after hour, and sighed. His head ache was still pounding behind his eyelids, and he resigned to the thought that it wasn't going to wear off by itself, after all. Well, he thought, watching Hoshi get up and carry her cup to the recycler, doesn't matter. Still got work to do. And nothing like a little headache to keep you awake.

"Good night, Lieutenant."

He looked up and saw Hoshi standing at the door. Malcolm smiled briefly. "Good night, Ensign."

The door slid shut and Malcolm bent back down over his padds. Seven reports to go.

XXX

"Captain!"

Phlox' voice. It seemed to come from far away. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently, and the contact startled Archer back to full awareness. He opened his eyes, realizing that he must have nodded off on his chair. The doctor was looking down at him, the skin around his eyes creased with exasperation.

"Why don't you go get some rest, Captain. You've been here for more than six hours."

Archer gave no answer, straightening up on his chair and looking over at the biobed. The sight had become familiar by now, but still he couldn't seem to get used to it, feeling that pang in his chest every time he looked at his friend.

Trip lay on his back, covered with one of the pale blue sickbay blankets, his head resting on a flat pillow. There were IV tubes inserted in both his arms, and a third tube for extra medication, as Phlox had told him. Archer had no idea what "extra medication" was supposed to be, but he hadn't asked the doctor about it. He knew the infusions were necessary, no, more than that, they were keeping Trip alive, but still, the sight of all those tubes and machines connected to Trip's body hurt. His eyes wandered to where the blanket had a round bulge, protruding as if someone had laid a pillow on Trip's stomach. Phlox had been happy about this new development, saying that if the child hadn't sunk further down it would have broken Tucker's ribs. A long-winded explanation how it still managed to maintain its connection with the pericardium had followed, but Archer hadn't really listened. He couldn't help but notice that Trip now looked more pregnant than ever before, and he didn't like it. It made him angry. There was something comical about the sight of a man with a pod, something absurd, and Archer hated the idea of Trip having to endure people's stares while he was in no position to defend his dignity. There was nothing funny about what was happening to Trip, nothing at all.

"Captain." Phlox' voice brought him back to the present. "You need to go get some sleep."

"How is he?" Archer glanced at the monitor's above Trip's head. Phlox sighed.

"There have been no changes since you asked me two hours ago. Oh, wait..." He stepped closer to the bed, and Archer watched in apprehension.

"What is it, doc?"

"Nothing to worry about." Phlox turned around, a small smile on his lips. "The child has woken up again. She is doing just fine."

I don't care how she's doing. Archer bit down on his lips to prevent the words from slipping out. It wasn't right to think these things, but he couldn't help it. Sometimes he felt a helpless, irrational anger when he thought of the child whose life Trip was trying to save no matter at what cost. Even if he himself died in the process. And she was always doing fine. No matter how weak and hollow-cheeked Trip was starting to look, she was in perfect health, sapping his strength and growing bigger with every day.

Archer inwardly shook his head at his thoughts. He knew he wouldn't normally lay the blame on someone who was least responsible of all. Maybe Phlox was right. Maybe he was only making things worse for everybody by staying at Trip's bedside for hours at a time, hardly sleeping more than three hours a night. Maybe he ought to go to bed, after all.

Against his own advice Archer stayed put. He stared at the monitor, registering the steady flashing of the screen without really seeing it. Maybe it was his tiredness, or the fact that he'd spent more than six hours sitting at his unconscious friend's bedside. Archer didn't know. He only knew that he'd never intended to ask the question which suddenly hung in the air between them.

"Can't you just operate on him? Before his condition becomes fatal, I mean?"

The moment he said it, he wished he could take the words back. Phlox turned around, a deep crease between his eyebrows as he looked at his captain.

"You mean, remove the child against Commander Tucker's will?"

Archer said nothing. He knew what Phlox was going to tell him; it would be horrible to do so, a crime, actually. Archer knew that. Still, he could only think that if he gave that order, if Phlox performed that operation, then Trip would be safe. He wouldn't have his vital energy sucked out of him by an alien life form, and he wouldn't die in only a few days time.

"Captain." Phlox' voice sounded resigned. Archer looked up and saw the doctor watching him with an almost sad expression. The outraged lecture on medical ethics Archer had been sure would follow didn't come. "Of course I can't. You know that. But I understand why you're asking." He folded his arms, letting out a small sigh. "I wasn't going to mention it yet, so as not to raise any false hopes, but-"

"What?" Archer got up. Phlox raised his hands.

"Captain, please. As I said, there is no reason to become overly optimistic. I have been experimenting with some substances I assumed to be similar to those Xyrillian pregnancy enzymes I told you about. There is a slight chance that I'll be able to synthesize a serum that will help adapt Commander Tucker's body to the great stress he's being exposed to."

Archer felt his pulse quicken. "Are you saying Trip'll be-"

"I'm only saying I _might_ be able to put off the impending crisis for a certain period of time. No more than a few days, in all likelihood."

Archer looked down at Trip. "When will you know for sure?"

"Tomorrow, at the earliest. The tests are still running. Captain..." Phlox hesitated. "It might work, but it is equally as possible that the serum turns out to show no effect, after all."

Archer nodded, though he couldn't help but smile for the first time in days. All this time he'd been hoping, almost frantically, that _something_ was going to happen, anything that proved the odds and Phlox' dire predictions wrong. It just couldn't be that he was going to lose Trip – not like that. He remembered his conversation with Trip's parents six days ago, twenty-four hours after Trip had gone into metabolic shock. They had shown similar feelings. Trip couldn't just die, leaving them with nothing but the painful question why someone at the height of his career, someone who had managed to achieve his goal in life, would decide to give it all up. Give up his life for a reason no one really understood. Archer thought of how Susan Tucker had asked him the very question he had asked Phlox – can't you just operate on him – and bit his lip. Maybe he wouldn't have to call the Tuckers in only a few days from now, informing them that medical ethics and Commander Tucker's personal decision had eventually led to their son's death, please accept my condolences. Maybe Archer wouldn't have to wonder for the rest of his life if he somehow could have prevented his best friend's death, after all.

"Captain..." He felt Phlox hand on his shoulder. "You know I can order you to go and get some rest." He paused briefly. "I don't want to do so, but I will if you won't listen to reason."

The Captain met the doctor's level gaze. He knew Phlox wouldn't hesitate to act on his threat if he continued to neglect the doctor's orders. Suddenly, however, leaving Trip's bedside for a few hours in order to get some rest didn't seem such an absurd idea anymore. His lids were burning, rubbing against his eyes like they were made of sandpaper, and Archer realized that he was tired enough to go to sleep right here and now.

Phlox, taking his silence as objection, tightened his grip on Archer's shoulder. "Captain. Bringing yourself to the point of physical collapse won't help Commander Tucker in any way. I promise I'll notify you immediately if there are any changes..."

Archer held up his hands. "On my way."

For a moment the doctor's face showed plain relief before he was able to cover it up, smiling his "You'd better" smile which he usually reserved only for his favorite patient, one Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

"There you go, Captain." The hand on Archer's shoulder remained, firmly but gently steering him in the direction of the sickbay doors. The Captain allowed himself to be all but frogmarched to the exit, throwing a last glance over his shoulder as he left. Trip was still sleeping, of course, still giving no indication that he was still alive in there, after all. Phlox noticed his look.

"At the moment the Commander's condition is relatively stable. Don't worry, Captain." He pressed the button to open the bulkhead. "Have a good night's rest."

Stepping out into the corridor, Archer once more became aware of the scratching, burning sensation behind his eyelids, and sighed. He probably wouldn't be able to stop worrying, but at the moment having a good night's rest seemed, as T'Pol would have said, the logical thing to do.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Emiliana Keladry, Gabi, Luna, JM9, Rinne, The Libran Iniquity (And hmph again ;-)... no, seriously, thanks for pointing out these things... if I'm not too lazy I'll correct them one day), vlm (same here... thanks for pointing out the mistakes), Phaser Lady, Exploded Pen and Quickbeam1 for reviewing!

New chapter... please r&r!

-----------------------------

Chapter 10

People die at night. Malcolm knew the saying, and his heart clenched at the thought that the proverb might well be proven true this very night. The crisis had come so suddenly Malcolm still had trouble believing this was really happening. Less than an hour ago he'd been woken up by a call from Hoshi who told him that Trip had just suffered another severe metabolic collapse. She'd been on the bridge, pulling a double-shift when Phlox had called, telling the Captain to come down to sickbay immediately. Trip had suffered a shock. Archer had left without another word, and even though there hadn't really been a reason for her to wake Malcolm, since there were still enough personnel left on the bridge, Malcolm was glad she'd done so. He'd rather stay awake all night, aware of what was going on, instead of waking up in the morning and having to face the worst of news.

Ensign Hsan from night shift had thrown him a compassionate glance when he'd shown up, with mussed hair and slightly puffy eyes from sleeping, but she'd left the station without a word. Ever since, Malcolm had been staring down at the displays without really seeing them, waiting for and at the same time dreading the chirp of the intercom.

Four days ago, shortly after the news about the doctor's experimental serum had given them a glimmer of hope, the child had finally begun to detach itself from Trip's pericardium. Phlox had been overjoyed at the news, saying that this might very well be Commander Tucker's only hope, and together with the rest of the crew Malcolm had allowed himself to gain new confidence. Maybe Trip wasn't going to die. Maybe luck was on their side, after all, and everything would miraculously turn out alright.

Malcolm bit his lip, casting a furtive glance at Hoshi who was still sitting motionlessly in her chair. He knew she'd called him because she needed a friend near while waiting for news, but he had no idea what to do or say to make her feel better. She would see through it immediately if he tried to offer her empty assurances that everything was going to be alright, and what else was there to say? Hoshi knew as well as Malcolm that things didn't look good. Not at all.

When Phlox had first injected Trip with the serum two days ago, the substance hadn't taken much effect. The doctor had said something about a glycolytic stabilization, but there was no visible sign of improvement. Trip was still unconscious, still as pale and weak as he had been before the injection. Malcolm knew the doctor had started working on a variation of the serum, one that would act faster and take a more radical effect, but the substance was still in its experimental phase. And the way things had developed, it seemed that Phlox would never get the chance to put it to use.

A small noise made him look up again. Hoshi had leaned forward in her chair, propping both her elbows on the console and resting her forehead in her hands. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the lines around her mouth, visible even from his place across the bridge. She had clearly been working to the point of sheer exhaustion. He hesitated, wondering if she would listen if he ordered her to go to her quarters and get some rest. Probably not. He'd just decided to try, anyway, when Hoshi opened her eyes, looking straight at him as if she had felt his eyes on her.

"You think I should call sickbay?" Her voice sounded hoarse with tiredness. It was a resigned question, and Malcolm knew what she was thinking. Maybe it was over already, and in his grief Archer had forgotten to inform his officers. Or had simply not been able to call the bridge, to tell them that Trip was dead. He shook his head.

"T'Pol's with them," he said. "She would have called if there had been any... changes."

Hoshi let out a deep sigh that sounded almost like a sob, but Malcolm noticed that her eyes were dry. She probably didn't even have the strength left to cry. With an effort Malcolm hadn't known he was capable of, he forced a smile onto his face.

"No news are good news, Ensign," he said. "Why don't you go get some sleep. You look like you need it."

Hoshi closed her eyes again. "You think he's going to die?"

Although her voice sounded calm, Malcolm knew that this was not the rational, self-confident communications officer talking. Hoshi was on the verge of collapsing with exhaustion, and she only asked this question so he could find reasons to tell her not to give up hope. So she could hear aloud what she was trying to tell herself in silence.

"Maybe Phlox will find a way to help him. He's stabilized him the first time when this happened, so maybe he'll manage again. As I said, no news are good news." Malcolm paused briefly. "Hoshi, why don't you-"

The comm station's speaker gave a small chirp. "Archer to the bridge."

Malcolm watched Hoshi reach out to press the intercom button, and became aware of hard knot sitting in his throat. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to sit and wait helplessly for what Archer was going to say next.

"Commander Tucker..." Malcolm heard Archer swallow, and closed his eyes. _Just say it_. "... Commander Tucker's condition has stabilized. The new serum has shown effect. The imminent crisis is over."

Malcolm opened his eyes, and saw Hoshi's lips curve upward in a smile. It seemed to hold all the relief that suddenly filled his chest, a relief so deep it almost brought tears to his eyes.

"Will - will he make it, sir?" Hoshi asked, and there was a short pause before Archer answered.

"Phlox cannot give a longer-term prognosis, but at the moment Trip's out of danger. His metabolism has stabilized, and his body is reacting to the glycogen injections Phlox administered a few minutes ago. It – it was a close call, though." Archer's voice still sounded a little unsteady. "I've got to get back now. Archer out."

Hoshi cut the connection, and looked up. For a moment she looked as if she wanted to say something, but then she simply leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. Malcolm felt a broad smile spread on his face. He knew exactly how she felt.

XXX

When Archer turned back from the intercom, T'Pol noticed that his hands were still shaking. She followed him with her eyes as he returned to stand next to her at the Commander's bedside, scrutinizing him for other signs of physical discomfort. But aside from the Captain's visible exhaustion there were none.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, returning her attention to the readings on the bioscreen. Human behavior during a crisis was certainly confusing. When the Commander's breathing had stopped, Phlox administering injection after injection to stabilize Tucker's broken-down metabolism, Archer had watched calmly and stony-faced, showing no sign of anxiety or agitation. If his eyes hadn't been fixed on the Commander's thin face, one might have assumed that none of this really concerned him.

The moment Phlox had announced, however, that Tucker was out of danger, the Captain had sat down hard on his chair, covered his face with his hands and had stayed that way for a long time. T'Pol did not understand why receiving good news would cause an emotional reaction and watching a friend struggle with death would not, but it was clear that the tears had only come to Archer's eyes when Phlox told him that Tucker was not going to die.

T'Pol would not have been quite honest, claiming she had not been worried herself. Although it was not seemly for a Vulcan to let her emotions show, T'Pol had no wish to witness the young Commander die. In fact, she knew that his death would have caused her deep regret. Why that would be so, she did not know. T'Pol was not used to deal with such irrational sentiments, and so she decided to simply accept the facts without pondering too much on possible reasons.

"Captain." Phlox' voice interrupted her musings. T'Pol could never really tell from the doctor's unique inflection what mood he was expressing, but at the moment she had the distinct impression that he was agitated. In a positive way. "Look at this."

Archer and T'Pol both stepped closer, looking at the reading Phlox was pointing at. T'Pol immediately realized what had caught the doctor's attention, and raised an eyebrow. Archer, however, was clearly confused.

"Is there something wrong, doc?"

"On the contrary." Phlox smiled broadly, and T'Pol felt a twinge of excitement before she was able to suppress the emotion. These were indeed very good news.

"Look at the Commander's vital readings, Captain." Phlox pointed at pulse rate and blood pressure whose indicators were slowly approaching the areas marked as normal. "They're stabilizing a lot faster than I assumed." Phlox' smile grew even broader. "The serum is showing more of an effect than I expected it to."

T'Pol didn't hear the Captain's reply. Her eyes had come to rest on the sleeping man's face, and her excitement of before doubled when she noticed a faint but distinctive movement underneath the Commander's eyelids.

"Captain!" T'Pol fought for a neutral tone of voice. "I believe the Commander is waking up."

"What?" The Captain and Phlox both turned around. That moment the man on the bed gave a small, hoarse cough, turned his head to the other side and opened his eyes. At first, Tucker seemed slightly disoriented; his eyes wouldn't focus and he blinked several times as if to clear his vision. Then, however, his eyes came to rest on the Captain, and the hazy look gave way to an expression of surprise.

"Cap'n..." His voice failed, and he coughed again, lifting a shaky hand but not quite succeeding in bringing it to his mouth. "What happened?"

Archer smiled, and T'Pol heard him swallow before he answered. "You gave us quite a scare, Trip. But Dr. Phlox found a way to help you. You're gonna be alright."

Tucker's eyes widened at these words, and T'Pol realized that something Archer had said had frightened him badly. Moving slowly and clumsily, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but Phlox gently pushed him back down.

"Take it easy, Commander. You've suffered a severe metabolic shock, and your body is still adjusting to the injections I gave you." Tucker opened his mouth, but Phlox continued before he could say something. "Your child has not been harmed."

Only a few weeks earlier the Commander would have protested if anyone had referred to the baby as "his" child, but at the moment he didn't seem to have the strength left to do so. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again, and this time they held no fear or confusion anymore.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"You have been unconscious for eleven days, Commander," Phlox said.

Tucker stared at him. "Eleven days?" he repeated incredulously. "It didn't feel that long."

"You were unconscious ever since your metabolism collapsed for the first time," Phlox said, glancing at the screen above the bed. "It will please you to hear that four days ago the child has started to detach itself from your pericardium." He looked back at his patient. "The process is now almost complete."

Tucker's features relaxed slightly. "How is she?"

"Alive and kicking, as you would say." The doctor smiled, and glancing at the bio monitor T'Pol saw that the child was indeed awake and moving. Tucker grimaced, but there was no mistaking the expression of relief that crossed his face at the doctor's words. Again, he tried to sit up, and Phlox quickly adjusted the upper part of the bed so that the Commander sat slightly propped up. When Tucker took a first look at his swollen abdomen, his eyes widened.

"That... it... it wasn't that – big before," he finished rather helplessly, and T'Pol noticed that he distinctly avoided looking at her or the Captain. Phlox smiled at the surprise in his tone.

"Yes, as I told the Captain a few days ago, we can deem ourselves fortunate that the child has sunk further down. Otherwise I might have been forced to remove some of your ribs." Tucker blanched slightly, but the doctor went on as if nothing had happened. "And you are right, Commander, the child has rather grown in size during the last ten days. It is now almost as big as a human child at the end of the ninth month."

There was a short pause. For some reason, T'Pol noticed, Archer was looking rather uncomfortable, exchanging a brief glance with the doctor, then staring down at his hands. The Commander looked from Phlox to the Captain. He seemed to have noticed as well.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Come on, there's something you're not tellin' me."

The doctor raised his eyebrows in a not very convincing gesture of surprise. "Everything's fine, Commander." He checked on the monitor again, and T'Pol saw his back stiffen in a way she did not like. As the doctor was standing at the head of the bed, however, Tucker did not notice. "Why don't you try and get some rest. Your metabolism is still adjusting to the new hormones, and it would do you good."

Tucker groaned. "Doc, I've been sleepin' for eleven days. Why can't I-"

"I said rest, Commander, not sleep." Phlox looked at T'Pol, and she read the silent message in his eyes. There was indeed something the doctor was not telling. "Subcommander, would you mind staying with Commander Tucker while I have a brief word with the Captain?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She would have preferred to be also informed about whatever difficulty had arisen, but realized that it was necessary not to upset the Commander. And leaving him alone in the room in order to have a secret conference next door would certainly end in that very result.

"Of course, doctor," she said. The Commander frowned, this time looking at Archer.

"Jon, what is it? Why can't you talk in here?"

The Captain briefly laid a hand on Tucker's shoulder, for means of reassurance, T'Pol supposed. "I'll be right back, Trip. Don't you worry."

"What's that supposed to-" But Archer and Phlox had already disappeared into an adjoining room, the door sliding shut behind them. Tucker lay back on his pillow, the frown still creasing his forehead.

"D'you have any idea what that was all about?"

"No," T'Pol said truthfully, realizing that she would have to think of something to keep the Commander's mind off whatever it was the Captain and the doctor were discussing. "Would you like something to drink, Commander? Your throat seems to be rather dry."

Tucker licked his chapped lips, and once again T'Pol noticed how thin he looked. His usually healthy complexion was pallid, his eyes sunken, and the tubes inserted in his arms only served to underline his emaciated appearance. T'Pol felt a brief surge of unease when she remembered how close he had been to death only seventy minutes ago, and how quickly his condition could change again. Clearly, not everything was "alright" as the doctor had claimed. Tucker seemed to have noticed her eyes on him, and averted his gaze, obviously embarrassed.

"Yeah, some water would be nice, thanks."

T'Pol got up, turning her eyes away so as not to cause him any further discomfort. She fetched the water, then sat down on the chair next to the bed while he sipped the cold liquid.

"So... anythin' happened while I was out?"

T'Pol briefly considered asking him if he considered his own untimely demise to count among "anything", but then decided against it. She didn't want to come across as unfeeling, and this was certainly not the right moment to start a verbal repartee.

"Three days ago, we came across a nebula the Captain found rather intriguing, and dropped to impulse speed in order to explore it. Ensign Mayweather and Lieutenant Reed took a shuttle inside, but their scans did not show any significant deviations from the scans I took using the ship's instruments. They discovered, however, a certain form of microorganisms living inside the gas clouds, and I requested the Captain we stay for another week in order to explore them. After that, we will resume our previous course."

Usually, Tucker would have wanted to know more about the microorganisms, would have asked her if the away team had taken any pictures of the nebula's inside, but at the moment there seemed to be other things on his mind. Not, T'Pol mused, that this was very surprising.

"T'Pol..." he began, and she noticed a certain hesitation in his tone.

"Yes, Commander?"

"That metabolic shock Phlox was talkin' about... he didn't expect me to survive, did he?"

He looked at her, and T'Pol knew that he would see through it immediately if she tried telling him what humans called "a little white lie". She forced herself to hold his gaze.

"The doctor did everything he could, Commander, but your odds of surviving were not very high. He said it was a rather fortunate coincidence that the new serum took such quick effect. Otherwise your body probably wouldn't have been able to cope with the strain."

He nodded slowly, not displaying any particular emotions at the revelation.

"But you need not worry, Commander," she added, feeling some kind of reassurance was in order. "The doctor said you are out of danger."

"For the moment." His eyes were calm when he said it, and T'Pol didn't know what to respond. The Commander was very receptive of moods, and of course he had noticed that something was awry. She did not know whether his controlled reaction was a good or a bad sign.

"Commander, maybe you should do as the doctor advised you, and try to rest for a while."

He shook his head. "Not right now." Again his eyes came to rest on her, and now it was her turn to feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. She didn't know what to make of his behavior, and hoped that it had nothing to do with the substances he'd been given. But no, she decided. The doctor would have informed her if the serum had any effect on the Commander's psyche.

"Can I ask you somethin', Subcommander?"

His question came as a surprise to her, and she raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want to know, Commander?"

"That time in the armory..." He hesitated. "You know, when... when they were talkin' about me."

"I remember the occasion, Commander."

"Yeah... right." Again he paused. "Guess I never really thanked you for comin' to my aid. I – I appreciated that."

She let her eyebrow climb even higher. "No thanks are necessary, Commander. I only did what was my duty as senior crewmember and first officer of this ship."

"I know." For once, he did not object to her attempt at finding logical explanations for her actions. "I was just wonderin'... when I first came back from the Xyrillian ship, you..."

He trailed off, but T'Pol knew what he'd been about to ask. She had hoped this question would not arise, but she had been expecting it. It wasn't the Commander's way to leave any questions unasked, and he was justified in asking, after all.

"You want to know why I first expressed a rather harsh criticism of your behavior aboard the alien ship, and later defended you against the accusations I had previously voiced myself?"

"Well," he smiled, "I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but yes, I guess that was what I wanted to ask."

T'Pol suppressed a sigh. It wasn't easy for her to explain her behavior, since she didn't really understand it herself. It came too close to an emotional reaction, and she hated to think that she had succumbed to such irrationality.

"When I first learned of what had happened, I did not believe you. I assumed – basing on an interpretation of your character which I later realized to be fallacious – you had engaged in some kind of... romance, and were now trying to cover up your lapse by claiming you had not known what was going on." She did not wait for his reaction, and continued, "When the Captain told us, however, how the Xyrillians treated you, I found myself forced to reconsider. If they reacted that illogically to the situation, your version of the events might well be the truth, and she – the woman in question – might have actually committed the even more illogical act of convincing you to... engage in sexual activity under false pretenses. Then you refused to undergo the abortion in order to save the life of another being, fully aware of the fact that this decision might have fatal consequences for yourself." She paused. "It is one of the most important Vulcan principles to preserve life no matter at what cost. I realized that I had misjudged you. So when Ensigns Crane and Barrie spoke of your situation in what I deemed to be a very disrespectful manner, I felt the need to intervene, and put a stop to the false accusations being raised against you."

Tucker didn't answer immediately, and T'Pol interpreted his silence as disapproval.

"Commander, if I have in any way intruded into your privacy by-"

"No!" He held up a hand. "No, you didn't. You know, I'm glad you told me. Actually..." Again he hesitated, and T'Pol found herself slightly confused. Usually the Commander spoke his mind right away, and "to hell with the consequences", as he would have said. Now, however, he seemed to have difficulties finding the words for what he was going to say.

"Actually there's somethin' else I wanted to ask you."

She waited, mutely indicating that he should go on. He bit his lip.

"You know, I've been thinkin'. What happened before, that... metabolic shock, it could happen again. Hell, I have no idea if I'll even survive until..." He gestured at the bulge protruding from under the blanket, and T'Pol understood.

"Until you come to term."

He nodded. "Right. And I don't know if I'll survive that. The... the birth, I mean." He swallowed, but T'Pol realized he hadn't yet finished his say. She kept silent, waiting for him to continue. Tucker sighed.

"I don't really know how to say this. You know, in the beginnin' I didn't care what happened to her. The baby. I decided not to... to undergo that operation, but that was mostly because I couldn't live with the thought of me bein' responsible for another person's death. At that time..." Again he paused, then continued very quietly, "at that time, if she had died for some reason, I... I wouldn't have minded. I – sometimes I wished for it to happen."

T'Pol heard the shame in his voice, and even though she managed to keep her voice neutral when she spoke, she found herself having difficulties suppressing her emotions. She knew she wasn't able to offer the Commander the comfort he needed, and she found herself experiencing regret at that fact. The only thing she could do, however, was simply state the facts, hoping it might help him on a rational level, if not on an emotional one.

"It is understandable, Commander. You were in a very difficult situation. No one could expect you to have... parental feelings for the child."

He let out a small laugh. "Parental feelings, huh? Strange you would say so. You know, only a week later or so, I noticed I... I did have some feelings of that kind. Didn't know what to make of it, so I mostly ignored it, but... when Phlox told me he'd have to operate, after all... I realized I didn't want that. It woulda been the perfect excuse, she bein' a danger to my life, and all. But... somehow I couldn't let it happen."

T'Pol didn't know what to say. She wished she could have provided some kind of comfort, or reassurance, but she simply didn't know how humans reacted in situations like this. So she sat, and listened, and to her slight surprise noticed that Tucker didn't seem to expect her to do anything else.

"I know there's the possibility that I... won't be around after she's born. But someone needs to take care of her. And... well..." He looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes, and a moment later T'Pol realized in dismay that a human would probably have called it "pleading". "I wanted to ask you if you'd... look after her in case I don't survive."

For a moment, T'Pol sat perfectly still. She had been surprised that he would confide his private feelings in her, but she had never expected him to ask her this question.

"Commander," she began, careful to keep her face neutral, "I am honored that you would place such trust in me. But... why would you ask me? And not the Captain, for example? I assumed he is what humans call your "best friend"."

"He is," Tucker said quietly. "And I trust him just the same. I know he would do it if I asked him, and I know he would do just great. Same with Phlox, or Malcolm, for that matter. But..." Again he hesitated. "Jon's a starship captain. He isn't goin' to give up his job one day, and return to Earth. He wants to continue this mission, as long as Starfleet will let him do so. I... I don't want to stop him from doin' what he wanted to do all his life. And it's gonna be difficult. That incident in the armory... these things are gonna happen all the time. I know you can deal with that. You don't care what people say, you just do what you think right. You'd never blame her for what they'll say, not even subconsciously." He looked up. "That's why I'm askin' you. So... would you?"

There was only one logical answer to give, and if it wasn't all that logical after all, then for once T'Pol didn't care. "I promise, Commander, that I will care for your child in case you do not survive."

She didn't say anything else – Vulcans avoided getting overly emotional, and T'Pol didn't intend to break that rule – but it seemed to be good enough for Tucker. He smiled briefly, and to her relief made no move to engage in any human gestures of emotional display.

"Thank you, T'Pol. It means a lot to know that."

Once again, it seemed that silence was the only answer she could give, and the Commander didn't seem to expect anything else. Leaning back on his bed, he closed his eyes, and left T'Pol to muse in wonder on what had just happened.

XXX

"What is it, doc?"

Phlox' face was very serious when he turned to look at Archer. "Captain, the Commander's awakening is not necessarily good news."

Archer had thought as much when he'd seen the doctor's worried looks, but still, hearing it from Phlox himself only served to increase his anxiety.

"Is he in danger of suffering another shock?"

Phlox folded his arms in front of his chest, his voice sounding grim as he answered. "It is even worse, Captain. The new serum seems to have caused Commander Tucker's body to speed up its metabolism at a rate which is not healthy for him. In short, he's burning up his last resources."

Archer tried to keep his voice calm. "What are you getting at, doc?"

"I am saying that we do not have much time left." Phlox cast a brief glance at the door. "Commander Tucker's body is using up its last strength in order to stay alive until the child is born. But his resources won't even last until then. Captain..." Phlox hesitated, a sad expression crossing his face. "It is very likely that the Commander will not survive the night."

Archer sat down on the edge of the lab table, his hands gripping the cold steel. A hard lump sat in his throat, choking his voice as he spoke.

"Isn't there... isn't there anything you can do, doc?"

Phlox took a deep breath. "Actually there is. Captain..." He raised his eyes. "I'm going to have to operate on the Commander. Now. It's his only hope of survival."

Archer briefly closed his eyes. "He won't let you, doc. You know that."

"The child has almost completely detached itself from his pericardium. There is a chance of more than eighty percent that it will survive the operation. In comparison to the Commander its odds of surviving are very high."

The edge of the desk was beginning to feel sweaty under his palms. "You said it's his only chance..."

Phlox nodded. "It is, Captain. But I can't guarantee that his body will be able to withstand the strain of the operation. All we can do is... hope."

There was a brief pause, and the silence seemed to stretch as Archer fought to keep his emotions under control. He couldn't afford to fall to pieces now. They didn't have the _time_. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"

The doctor hesitated. "I will inform the Commander that it is crucial I operate on him tonight, but I am not going to tell him his life is in immediate danger. It would only serve to upset him, and in his current condition that is the last thing we need. I'm telling you, Captain, because I need your help in this. I need you to talk to the Commander, help him calm down. He trusts you, and if you tell him there's nothing to worry about, he'll believe you."

"You want me to lie to him?"

Phlox shook his head. "It wouldn't be a lie. If the Commander is afraid of the operation, he might be less capable of coping with the strain. I will, of course, narcotize him, but I assume it will help him to know that he's not alone."

Archer nodded. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, witnessing the operation, but he would do anything in his power to help Trip. And the doctor's arguments seemed reasonable. If this was the only chance for Trip to survive, then what were they waiting for?

"Alright, doc. Will it take long to prepare him for surgery?"

Phlox shook his head. "Only fifteen minutes."

Archer took a deep breath. "Well, then... we'd better get started."

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Emiliana Keladry, Luna (driving you nuts is what I'm here for... -g-), Rinne, kelsey (for Chapter 9 and 10), plumtuckered, Maraschino, Gabi (wie gesagt... dafür bin ich da ;-) ), neptune60 (please check AN below), Elizabeth Annette, Exploded Pen, The Libran Iniquity, Quickbeam1 (Thank you! So many questions... I'd love to give you an answer, but that would be killing the element of suspense... but I promise you you'll find out. I'll keep updating every other day or so... ;-) ) and WhtevrHpnd2Mary (thank you! Glad you're enjoying the story!) for reviewing!

Hope you enjoy Chapter 11... please r&r!

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Chapter 11

Enterprise's operating room was rather small. Archer had been in here only a few times before (thankfully never as a patient himself), and it surprised him again how Phlox was able to work with such limited space at his disposal. The operating table, a slab of stainless steel, was the dominating feature of the room, lit by the white light of the adjustable lamp above. Lacking any furniture besides a small table for the surgical instruments and a chair in the corner, it was not a very welcoming place.

Archer watched as Ensign Cutler and the doctor carefully lifted Trip off the gurney on which he had been brought in, and onto the table. The engineer was still wearing his one-piece hospital gown, and threw a quick, nervous glance at his surroundings once Phlox and Cutler had him settled on the slab. It was the first sign of anxiety he had shown since Phlox had told him about the impending operation half an hour ago. Trip had taken the news rather calmly, nodding and only asking whether it wasn't too early to remove the baby just yet. Phlox' assurances that the child was going to be "just fine" seemed to have convinced him, for he had not voiced any further doubts.

Now, however, Archer saw that his friend was indeed afraid. Trip tried not to let it show, but his eyes darting nervously from side to side and his hands clenching the hem of his sickbay gown betrayed him. Phlox was still busy preparing his instruments, from time to time giving quiet directions to Cutler who arranged the equipment on the table once the doctor had checked it through. Both of them had already donned their surgical suits. Archer had been given one as well, and he still felt strange, wearing that silvery thing over his uniform.

Looking up, he noticed Trip's eyes resting on him, and stepped closer to the table.

"Hey," he said in what he hoped to be a level tone of voice. "You okay?"

Trip answered his smile, though his expression was strained. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Archer nodded. He knew Trip was far from fine, but of course this was the only answer he would give. He smiled.

"Tell you what, when this is over we're both gonna take an evening off, and watch the last game Forrest sent me."

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Monterey versus Daytona Beach?"

Archer nodded. "He sent it to me about a week ago, but I've never found the time." That wasn't true. There had been several occasions when Archer could have watched the game, but he'd never touched the small plastic chip sitting on a shelf in his ready room, had never even considered taking it down and inserting it into the recorder's slot. He'd sworn to himself he would watch it together with Trip, or not at all, and he intended to keep that promise.

Trip grinned weakly, his surroundings momentarily forgotten.

"Bet we kicked your sorry asses this time."

"I wouldn't count on it, Commander." Archer frowned in mock exasperation. "And just so you know, this time we're not watching the end first. Takes the fun out of the whole thing."

Trip opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Phlox who had stepped up beside the table, placing a drape over Tucker's legs and abdomen. When he noticed Trip's questioning look, he smiled.

"Everything's alright, Commander. I'm going to attach the catheter now, nothing to worry about. Please, continue your conversation."

Trip frowned, clearly not pleased, but he didn't say anything. Archer sympathized with his discomfort, and continued to talk to keep Trip's mind off whatever Phlox was doing.

"If Monterey win this time they'll make it into the finals." He sighed dramatically. "I'd never thought I'd live to see the day."

Trip grimaced. "You're not goin' to. They have no chance, you'll see."

That moment Liz Cutler appeared next to the table, holding an IV. "Your arm, please, Commander."

Trip extended his right arm, watching as Cutler inserted the tube and fastened the bag to its holder. Phlox had finished with the catheter, and went to the head of the table to check the readings on the bio monitor.

The door slid open again, and Archer turned around. Ensign Li, a member of Phlox' medical staff, entered the room, pushing what looked like a glass container the size of a small fish tank, its bottom padded with a thick layer of soft white material. Phlox raised his head, nodding in satisfaction when he saw the container.

"Thank you, Ensign," he said. "Please wait outside. I'll notify you when I need your help."

"Yes, doctor." Li pushed the container to stand against the wall, then turned to leave. Phlox studied the screen for another moment.

"Everything seems to be fine," he said, gesturing to Liz who picked up a hypospray from the instrument table and put it into the doctor's outstretched hand. Archer noticed that Trip was nervously chewing the inside of his lip.

"You're gonna be fine," he said, quietly so that only Trip was able to hear him. "There's nothing to worry about, okay? You're gonna be just fine."

Trip turned his head to look at him, and for the first time Archer saw the plain fear in his eyes. He laid a hand on Trip's shoulder, hoping the contact would help him calm down somewhat. Trip relaxed slightly at the touch, and even managed a small smile. "Thanks, Jon."

Phlox came to stand at the opposite side of the table, holding up the hypospray so that Trip was able to see it. "I'm now going to inject you with an anesthetic, Commander. You'll be sleeping very deeply, and won't feel a thing. There's nothing to worry about."

Trip nodded, taking a deep breath. Archer tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder, and only a moment later Trip's eyes closed shut as the contents of the hypo were emptied into his vein, causing his breathing to become slow and even. Phlox checked on the screen, nodding at what he saw.

"Good. Please put on your masks now, Captain, Ensign." With a quick movement he undid the fastening of Trip's hospital gown and removed it, leaving him only with the surgical drape that covered his legs and genitals. Archer couldn't help but stare at the large bulge that protruded from Tucker's abdomen. It seemed to have moved somewhat more towards the middle, but was still positioned on his left side. And it was huge. As big as a basketball, or maybe even larger. The skin covering the protuberance was slightly reddened, and Archer noticed fine, knobby ridges that went across its length, covering the bulge like a spiderweb.

"The disinfectant solution, please." Phlox' voice startled him, and Archer blinked, watching as Liz Cutler handed the doctor a small white tube. Phlox removed the cap, then began to apply a whitish substance to Trip's middle, spreading it thoroughly until every part of the engineer's abdomen was covered. When he was done, Liz took the tube, and Phlox held out his hand again.

"Scalpel."

The doctor was handed a small gleaming blade, and despite himself, Archer felt his stomach give a slight lurch. Phlox studied his patient for a moment, frowning.

"Two incisions should be enough. Please keep the sponge holder ready, Ensign."

"Two incisions?" Archer raised his head. Phlox didn't seem to mind at all being interrupted, talking as cheerfully as ever as he answered.

"Yes, Captain. Look at that." He pointed at the bioscreen. "This is the epidermis, the outer layer of the skin. It's not too thick, but I'll have to incise it in order to open the Commander's abdomen. Then I'll perform a second cut, opening the fat tissue that has formed around the child. The tissue consists of two layers, one directly protecting the child, so I assumed I might have to perform a third incision. But it looks like I should manage with two."

"Oh."

Above his surgical mask, the doctor's eyes wrinkled in a smile. "Feel free to ask me any questions that come to your mind, Captain."

Archer nodded, secretly making up his mind not to interrupt the doctor again, come hell or high water. Phlox' hand hovered over Trip's abdomen for another moment, then he began to cut. The Captain watched as Phlox swiftly drew the scalpel from Trip's navel to where the bulge ended, leaving a red, fifteen centimeter gap in the skin.

"Ensign." Liz stepped closer, swabbing the blood that was rapidly emerging from the wound.

"His readings are stable."

Archer noticed a metallic taste in his mouth, and realized that he'd been biting his lip so hard it was bleeding. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to return his attention to what Phlox was doing. The doctor had proceeded to pull apart the gap, and was now pointing at something inside the wound.

"I'm going to incise the tissue right here," he said, addressing Liz who nodded, her eyes following the doctor's hands. Archer made no effort to see what the doctor was pointing at, thanking all the gods there were that from his side of the table he wasn't able to get a direct look at the wound. The smell of blood in his nostrils mixed with the taste in his mouth, and he felt his knees growing weak. Don't you dare, he told himself. Don't you dare. Trip needs you. You're not going to let him down.

Repeating the words like a mantra in his head, Archer watched as Phlox lowered the scalpel a second time. Fresh blood emerged, and Liz quickly exchanged the swabs she used soak up the blood. Her gloves were dripping with bright red liquid, and again, Archer closed his eyes. _Don't you dare_.

"There we are."

Phlox laid the scalpel aside, and Archer wondered how he could possibly stay that calm. Trip looked like he'd been ripped open with a Klingon bathleth, his abdomen one gaping red wound. There was blood everywhere, and the smell was penetrating, causing Archer to grit his teeth even harder. He was _not_ going to be sick.

Returning his attention to Cutler and Phlox, he saw that both of them had stopped in their tracks, staring at something inside the gap. Liz' eyes were wide, and she raised a hand as if to cover her mouth.

That moment the bio screen gave a small noise.

"Doctor! His heart rate-"

"I see it." Phlox cast a quick glance at the monitor, then – Archer pressed a fist against the mask covering his mouth – reached into the wound with both his hands. There was a sound like cloth being lifted out of water, and Phlox pulled out his hands again, holding a small brown body that was dripping with red blood. Archer couldn't see its face, but he noticed the tiny legs that were bent at the knees and tucked away under the body.

Cutler placed a clamp on the cord that still connected the two bodies, then cut the string with a quick, skilled movement.

"She's not breathing." Still holding the baby, Phlox turned around to Liz. "We're going to have to drain her lungs."

Cutler threw a glance at the bio screen which was giving off a low, steady beep. "Doctor, the Commander-"

"Quick, Ensign!" Phlox snapped, and Cutler obeyed, grabbing a device from the instrument table. They both bent over the small body in Phlox' arms, their backs to the Captain so that he wasn't able to see what they were doing, but it made no difference. Archer stood paralyzed, his eyes fixed on the flashing screen and his fists pressed against his mouth. He wanted to shout, tell Phlox to help Trip – dammit he was _dying_ – but no sound came out. The seconds seemed to stretch, every sound drowned out by the persistent beeping of the screen, and Archer still couldn't move.

"Remove the tube, Ensign. Her respiration has started." Phlox' voice penetrated the beeping, breaking the illusion of time being slowed down. A sudden flurry of movement followed, and from the corner of his eye Archer saw Cutler carrying the baby over to the glass container. His attention, however, was on Phlox who hurried to the Commander's bedside, frowning down at the screen.

"Hand me that hypo. Quick, Captain!"

In two long strides, Archer was at the instrument table, grabbing the hypospray Phlox was pointing at, and handing it to the doctor. He heard the soft hiss as its contents were injected into Trip's neck, and waited, again biting his lower lip without noticing that he was causing it to bleed again. The doctor stared at the monitor, and Archer saw his eyes widen.

"Cardiac arrest. Give me the stimulator, hurry!"

"Which one?" Archer stared down at the table in panic.

"The small gray stick."

Almost dropping it as he picked it up, Archer gave the device to the doctor, watching in horror as Phlox pulled a switch on the stick's side and pressed the stimulator against Trip's chest. The shock caused Trip's back to arch up, and there was a dull thud as he fell back onto the table.

"No response."

Again, Phlox pressed the device against Trip's chest, and Archer turned his head away, not wanting to see the terrible convulsion that lifted Trip's body off the table. He closed his eyes, wishing he could shut out all the noise and smell that was surrounding him, close off his senses and pretend this wasn't happening.

"Captain!" Phlox' voice. Archer turned to look at the doctor, and saw that for some reason the man was smiling behind his mask. Trip was dying, and he smiled?

"The Commander's heart is beating again. His blood pressure has normalized."

Archer stared at the doctor, unable to comprehend the meaning of his words. He felt a hand on his arm, gently pushing him out of the way, and stepped aside without realizing what he was doing.

"I took her outside," Liz said, taking the stimulator from the doctor's outstretched hand, and laying it back on the instrument table." Li is taking care of her. Is the Commander alright?"

Phlox nodded. "The imminent crisis is over. I still need to remove the tissue, though." He waved his hand. "Scalpel, please."

Archer watched as the scalpel was lowered into the wound again, and a moment later Phlox' hand reappeared, holding a bloody lump of flesh the size of a small melon. Dropping the lump into a kidney basin Liz put away without a second look, Phlox laid the scalpel aside.

"The adhesive, please."

For some strange reason, the word startled Archer out of his numbness. "Adhesive?"

Cutler handed the doctor a small object that looked like a miniature piping bag, and Phlox reached into the wound again, not looking up as he answered.

"That's right, Captain. Tissue adhesive, to be exact. Usually I use a matter resequencer for suture, but in this case the wounds are too extensive for resequencing. I have to close the outer incision as well as the small wound on the Commander's pericardium, and I want to make sure the wounds do not open up again as soon as the Commander takes a first walk around sickbay. Which I am afraid he will insist on doing way too early, as always."

Archer swallowed. "Are you... are you saying Trip's going to be alright?"

The doctor paused to examine his handiwork. "Indeed I am, Captain. His readings are stabilizing even as I'm working, and with the removal of the child his body can begin to heal without having to provide for another organism as well." He looked up, his eyes smiling. "The odds are definitely in his favor."

The Captain briefly closed his eyes, feeling heat well up behind his lids. He'd managed to keep control during all this time, but now he knew he just wouldn't be able to hold back the tears. Again pressing a hand against his mouth, he turned away and walked to a corner of the room. There he leaned against the wall, allowing the tears to fall, not caring if anyone saw him. Trip was going to survive. The long wait was finally over.

After a few minutes Archer felt a hand on his arm, and looked up. Liz Cutler was standing before him, her surgical mask hanging loosely around her neck, an almost shy smile on her face as she spoke.

"Captain, why don't you go sit down for a while."

Archer shook his head, pulling down his mask as well. "I'll stay until he's done."

"Captain," Phlox' voice came from across the room. "It'll take me at least another fifteen minutes to close the wound, and the Commander will certainly not wake up during that time. We'll take him to the IC unit later, and I'll make sure to call you when he regains consciousness."

Archer hesitated – he still felt he would be letting Trip down if he left now – but then decided to listen to reason. Trip was safe, so there was no reason for him to stay in here any longer. And it seemed like a good idea, taking these wobbly legs of his to a chair. After all, he didn't want to have Cutler carrying him out the door. Before he left the room, however, he heard Phlox' voice calling him back. Archer turned around, and the doctor smiled at him.

"Thank you, Captain. You did great."

Archer didn't know what to say, but then the door had already slid shut, hiding Phlox and the still unconscious Commander from sight. The Captain took a deep breath, relieved to smell air that didn't stink of blood and disinfectant solution. Letting Liz guide him over to a chair, he sat down, the tension easing from his body as he allowed himself a moment's rest.

"Captain." A calm voice made him look up again, and he saw T'Pol standing in front of him, hands clasped behind her back. "I take it the Commander is alright?"

"Yes." Archer exhaled deeply. "He made it. But... it was a close call."

He took a look at the chronometer on the wall, and realized that less than an hour had passed since he'd followed Phlox into the operating room. It felt more like days to him.

"Ensign Li and I have examined the child," T'Pol said, breaking into his thoughts. "She seems to be healthy, although it will take a closer examination by the doctor to verify her good condition."

Archer raised his head. "Where is she?"

"Ensign Li has taken her to the IC unit where Dr.Phlox has prepared a special bed. She is sleeping at the moment."

For some reason Archer hesitated before asking his next question. "Can I see her?"

"Of course, Captain."

Archer got up to follow T'Pol into the adjoining room, but then remembered something. "Just a second, Subcommander."

T'Pol waited, her eyebrow raised. Archer pressed the intercom button. "Archer to the bridge."

"Bridge." He wasn't surprised to hear Hoshi's voice. Of course neither she nor Malcolm had gone to bed after Archer had informed them about the impending operation one hour ago. He could only imagine how it must have been, sitting at their stations without being able to do anything but wait for news.

"You'll be happy to hear that both Commander Tucker and the child have survived. Phlox is still with Trip, but he told me chances are very good that he will recover."

Archer closed the connection, smiling as he heard a whoop that sounded very much like Travis' voice. Apparently the helmsman had left his quarters to join the rest of the senior staff on the bridge.

T'Pol was still standing at the door, watching him with raised eyebrows. Archer gestured for her to take the lead.

"After you, Subcommander."

They entered the IC unit, a small, softly lit room with two biobeds that were hidden from view by white curtains. T'Pol walked over to one of the beds, pulling the thin fabric aside and motioning for Archer to come closer. His eyes fell on a rectangular glass container similar to the one Li had brought into the operating room, standing against the wall next to the biobed. Unlike the other container, however, this cot was equipped with a bio screen and a small device Archer recognized as a heat regulator. Exchanging a glance with T'Pol whose face held no particular expression, Archer bent down to get a closer look at the small baby that was lying on the soft material padding the bottom of the cot. At first sight, Archer was surprised how little difference there was to a human baby. A thin ridge of bone parted her forehead, extending across her hairless skull and reminding Archer of the Xyrillians he had talked to on Tr'Nal's ship. Her body was covered with tiny bronze scales that slightly reflected the light, giving her skin a smooth and shiny appearance. Her arms and legs, however, as well as her small torso, were as thin as those of any newborn, and the way she tucked her hands under her chin while sleeping reminded him very much of a human baby. Or Vulcan, for that matter. Archer let his gaze wander across the tiny body, noticing the end of the umbilical cord that was still held by the clamp, as well as the oxygen tube inserted into her nose.

T'Pol seemed to have followed his eyes. "We discovered that she was respiring too rapidly, and decided to give her extra oxygen to help her breathe. It is, of course, Dr. Phlox' decision, but I suppose that we will be able to remove the tube in a few hours' time."

Archer nodded, not able to take his eyes off the baby inside the cot. It was unbelievable that this being, looking so much like a human baby, had grown inside a man's body. He realized that up until now she, the child, had never quite become real to him. Now that she was lying here in front of his eyes, alive, breathing, wearing a diaper for God's sake, he truly didn't know what to say.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I was surprised that she had actually grown an umbilical cord," she said. "But of course there must have been some kind of connection between her and the nutrient tissue."

Archer nodded, not really listening. He thought of Trip, and wondered how his friend would feel, seeing the baby – _his_ baby – for the first time. He couldn't begin to imagine how it must be like.

As he straightened up again, Archer swayed slightly, and T'Pol caught him by the arm. The dizzy feeling wore off in a second, but T'Pol studied him with her eyebrows raised.

"Captain. I suggest you go to your quarters and get some rest. It is half past three in the morning, and you have been awake for almost twenty-four hours."

Archer shook his head. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

T'Pol let out a tiny sigh. "Captain. The Commander will wake up in five or six hours at the earliest. There is no need for you to stay here the entire time."

Archer was too tired to argue with Vulcan logic, and simply shook his head again. "I'm not leaving now."

T'Pol seemed to have expected as much. "You could at least lie down on one of the biobeds, Captain. That way the doctor can wake you immediately when the Commander regains consciousness, and you will not collapse with exhaustion, either."

Archer met her eyes, and knew that she wouldn't take no for an answer. Sighing, he relented, pulling the surgical gown over his head as he followed her to the door. With a last glance at the sleeping baby he left the room, hearing the door sliding shut behind him.

"Shouldn't someone stay with her, just in case?"

T'Pol gave him a dry look. "I will return in there immediately after you have lain down, Captain."

He sighed. "You don't trust me, do you?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Not in this regard, Captain."

Archer grimaced, but secretly had to admit that it felt good, being able to stretch out his weary body on one of the beds. He felt a blanket being spread over him and murmured his thanks, then heard her steps retreating, and the door of the IC unit opening and closing.

Feeling his arms and legs relax and grow heavy, Archer let out a deep sigh and remembered that there were at least a dozen calls he had to make, and just as many people he had to talk to, calm down, or simply inform of the situation. But not right now. Right now all he wanted to do was close his eyes and think of nothing. If only for a short time.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!

AN to neptune60: Thanks for taking the time to write such a long review. You do have a point, saying Trip could have struggled with his decision a bit more. But it's not like everyone else is simply accepting his decision (Jon, for example, is not happy with it at all), they just feel they have no right to dissuade him or argue with him, because its his life and his decision to make. And discussing the matter would make things even harder for him than they already are. You are right, though, Malcolm and Phlox were judging Trip's initial decision to have the fetus removed which was very easy for them since it wasn't their life and dignity at stake, but that is exactly the reason why Malcolm is feeling guilty. He realized that he applied his personal moral values to the situation without taking all possible consequences into consideration. Oh, and I never meant to suggest that it's okay for T'Pol to give up her job! I just tried to think how Trip would feel about the whole thing... he's known Jon for many years and knows that Archer is living his dream by being Captain of the Enterprise, whereas (at that point in ENT canon) T'Pol is still the aloof Vulcan observer who doesn't really feel at home with the crew. So if Trip has to decide whether to ask T'Pol or ask the Captain (and accept that it might become necessary for the person in question to leave Enterprise one day), I think he'd ask T'Pol because (at that point in Ent canon) it's only a matter of time anyway until the Vulcan High Command orders her back. I never meant to suggest that Trip deems T'Pol's job and career less important than Archer's. Maybe I should have been a little more emphatic on that. The main reason he asks her is that he thinks she'll be more capable of coping with the prejudices and problems someone with an alien child is sure to encounter, because she has a more logical approach to such things, and would never blame the child. BTW, the atmosphere on Enterprise shouldn't prove a problem since Trip had no trouble breathing when he was on the Xyrillian ship, so I suppose it works the other way around as well. Just noticed this is getting longer and longer ;-)... maybe I should've written you an e-mail. Thanks, anyway, for your constructive criticism, and I hope I didn't bore you to death with my endless answer -g-...

Please keep reviewing!


	12. Chapter 12

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to JM9, Luna, Emiliana Keladry, Rinne, lorien829, vlm, The Libran Iniquity, Maraschino, VanishingP2000, Gabi and Quickbeam1 for reviewing!

Here's Chapter 12, please read and review!

-----------------------------

Chapter 12

"Just look at that!"

"What do you mean?"

"Those tiny hands... and her feet! So small!"

"Well, she is a baby. You'd expect her to have small hand and feet."

"Lieutenant!"

"Really, I can't see why women are so potty about babies. I mean, they scream, they burp, they sme- ouch! What did you hit me for?"

"Because you're being stupid."

"It's insubordination to hit a superior officer, Ensign."

"Not when he's being stupid."

The voices were talking at a distance, only slowly taking on substance and becoming clearer. Trip realized that it was a man and a woman talking, but he was only gradually taking in their words, and at first couldn't tell whom the voices belonged to. His thoughts wouldn't focus, still slowly swimming up from the depths of oblivion, and he concentrated on the sound of their voices, using them as a guide to return his mind to consciousness.

"You think she's hungry?" The woman's voice again.

"I don't think so. Phlox fed her an hour ago, and he said she'd had enough to last her at least three hours."

"He let you watch?" Envy crept into her voice, and the man sounded rather smug as he answered.

"Of course. He even let me hold her while he was filling the bottle."

"Phlox let _you_ hold a baby?"

"Why shouldn't he? I wouldn't drop her, if that's what you're thinking."

"I always knew that man was crazy."

"You're just jealous."

"Jealous? I thought you were the one who didn't care about babies?"

"You're jealous because I got to hold her, and you didn't."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Okay, maybe I am jealous. But you've got to admit, her feet are really cute."

Carefully, fighting the heaviness of his lids, Trip opened his eyes. At first, his surroundings were only a blurred haze of colors, but then his vision cleared, and the objects around him began to take shape. He was in a small, dimly lit room, lying on a bed with the curtains half-drawn and hiding part of the room from view. He noticed his arms resting in front of him on the blanket, an IV tube inserted into his left hand. His body felt strange, heavy and sluggish, as if it didn't really belong to him. He tried to move his arm, and suddenly noticed that something else had changed. The bulge on his left – was gone.

Trip stared at the place where formerly the blankets had covered the protuberance, and it took his weary mind a while to realize what this meant. The operation was over. He had survived. And the child –

"I think she's waking up." Behind the curtain, the man spoke up again, causing Trip to jump slightly. Now he knew that it was Malcolm and Hoshi he'd been listening to, but he had no idea what they would be doing in here. In fact, he had no idea what _he_ was doing in here. His brain was still refusing to cooperate, and he blinked, trying to shake off the confused snatches of thought that were swirling through his mind.

"I'd better go and get Dr. Phlox." There was a movement behind the curtain, and a moment later Hoshi appeared. She threw a quick glance in his direction and turned to the door, then her head snapped around again.

"Commander!"

Her lips curved upward in a smile. Right then the curtains moved again, and Malcolm emerged, breaking into a grin as well when his eyes fell on Trip.

"You're awake!"

Trip tried to answer their smiles, but it felt more like a grimace to him. "Hi," he said weakly, surprised that he was able to produce any sound at all. His throat felt like sandpaper, dry and parched.

"How are you feeling?" Malcolm glanced at something above Trip's head. Hoshi, who'd picked up a glass from the nightstand, walked over to the sink, and a moment later there was the sound of water running.

Trip cleared his throat. "Okay," he said, swallowing to get rid of the vile taste in his mouth. "A little tired."

"That is to be expected, Commander."

Trip turned his head in the direction where the voice had come from, and a moment later Phlox walked into his range of vision. The doctor smiled.

"I saw on the monitor outside that you were awake," he said, briefly checking on the bio screen above Trip's head. "Very good. You seem to be recovering from anesthesia just fine."

"Here." Hoshi had returned, carrying a glass of water. "You must be thirsty."

"Thanks." Trip began to carefully prop himself up on his elbow, but Phlox' hand held him back.

"Don't try to sit up just yet, Commander." The doctor reached for something on the bed frame, and Trip felt the head end of the bed being raised until he sat propped up, able to survey the room. Hoshi handed him the glass, and he took a small sip. The feeling of water in his throat was wonderful, but his stomach gave a small lurch when confronted with the cool liquid.

"Take it slowly, Commander, we don't want you to get sick." Phlox took the glass after Trip had taken another sip, and put it back onto the nightstand. "You've had intravenous feeding for almost two weeks now, and your stomach is still quite weak. It'll take some time for you to get used to solid food again."

Trip laid his head back on his pillow. "Did... did everythin' go alright?"

The question sounded strange to him, but no one else seemed to think so. Malcolm and Hoshi smiled, and the doctor nodded.

"There was a small incident during the operation, but fortunately neither you nor the child have suffered any damage."

Trip decided he'd rather not ask about the nature of this "small incident". "Is she okay?"

"In very good health, as far as I can tell."

Trip bit his lip. "Can I... can I see her?"

Hoshi, who was standing next to the curtain, pulled back the white fabric until the whole room was visible, then lifted the curtain's end and secured it behind the bed. Trip's eyes fell on a small cot that stood against the wall, only a few feet away from his biobed. There wasn't much to see from his position, only a pair of tiny brown legs, but all of a sudden he felt scared. In only a moment's time he was going to see her, actually see the child whose movements he had felt and followed on Phlox' bio screens, and somehow the idea frightened him. He had never really thought of how it would be, how she would look like – for a long time he hadn't allowed himself to think about it, and later he had been somewhat... preoccupied. Trip felt that he was in no way prepared for what was going to happen.

He watched Phlox bent down over the cot, and a moment later the doctor straightened up again, holding the small baby in his arms. She seemed to be awake for she moved, squawking softly as Phlox carried her over to the bed.

"Be careful to support her head," the doctor advised, and Trip sat stiffly as the child was placed into his arms. She was warm, and moved, and at the same time seemed to weigh almost nothing. It surprised him how small she was. Trip took in every aspect of her appearance, the bronze scales that were her skin, her hands and feet –Hoshi had been right, they were indeed incredibly small – and the silvery blue eyes that reminded him of Ah'Len and her crewmates. Carefully, he reached out to push back the soft cap covering her head, and wasn't surprised as he felt the same tingling sensation he had experienced when Ah'Len had touched his face. He noticed the thin ridge of bone on her forehead, and let his fingers linger on her cheek for a moment before pulling his hand back. Most of the baby's body was covered by the pale yellow stretchsuit she was wearing, but her legs were bare, and moving constantly.

"Quite a handful, isn't she," a voice said next to him, and Trip looked up. Malcolm smiled.

"I held her earlier when the doctor prepared her bottle for feeding," he explained. Hoshi grinned.

"Yes, and he's been telling everyone he's met ever since."

Malcolm blushed. "I haven't."

Trip bit back a smile, and returned his attention to the child in his arms. Her eyes were resting on him, and he had the distinct impression that she was scrutinizing him as well.

"Hey," he said softly, and noticed that his earlier apprehension had completely vanished. It was strange, holding her in his arms, strange and new to him, but it was nothing to be afraid of. "Hey there, little one."

"Excuse me, Commander..." Phlox' voice made him look up again. Trip realized that he'd just been talking to the child in front of everyone, and felt his cheeks grow hot, but no one seemed to think it strange or funny. "If you're feeling up to more visitors just yet, I'd like to go get the Captain. Subcommander T'Pol managed to convince him to lie down for a while after the operation, but I promised him to wake him up as soon as you regained consciousness."

Trip nodded, remembering his conversation with Jon shortly before the operation. The Captain had tried everything to distract him from his anxiety, staying there as long as Trip remembered being still awake and aware of what was happening. And knowing Jon he was pretty sure the Captain had stayed during the whole thing, no matter how unpleasant it might have become. "Yes, that'd be nice. Thanks, doc."

The door slid shut behind the doctor, and Trip, realizing that he was still sitting as rigidly as he had when Phlox had first given him the child, relaxed a little into the pillows. The baby seemed to be feeling perfectly fine where she was, and he had to admit it _was_ a pleasant feeling, holding the small warm bundle in his arms.

"May I?" Malcolm had come closer, his hand hovering hesitatingly over the baby's face. Trip nodded. Very carefully, Malcolm touched her cheek, and again there was a faint energy discharge at the contact, causing Malcolm to pull back his hand in surprise. Then, however, he brought his fingers back to her face, more confidently this time, and his eyes widened at the soft crackling sound when he stroked her cheek.

"What _is_ that?"

Trip shrugged. "I have no idea. Ah'Len told me somethin' similar happens when two of them touch, but she never told me why it happens. Maybe it's got somethin' to do with their telepathic abilities."

"Or some other form of nonverbal communication." Hoshi carefully ran her finger over the baby's arm. The child didn't seem to mind the attention, and only squawked in protest when Malcolm drew back his hand.

Hoshi looked as if she wanted to add something to her theory about nonverbal communication, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. Malcolm and Hoshi both turned around, and Trip saw that Phlox was back, followed by a rather disheveled-looking Jonathan Archer. The Captain's eyes were still a little puffy from sleeping, but that impression vanished the moment his face broke into a broad smile.

"Trip!"

Forgetting about his sleepiness, Jon was at his bedside in two swift strides, and Trip suspected that he would have been pulled into a hug if it hadn't been for the doctor and the two younger officers watching. And, of course, for the child in his arms.

"Hey, Cap'n."

"Glad to see you awake." Jon smiled. "And some else seems to be awake as well." He raised his eyebrows at the baby who left no room for doubt that she was indeed very awake, gurgling softly and kicking the air with her feet. "Well, she does seem to like you."

Trip shrugged, and surprisingly didn't even feel any embarrassment at Jon's words. "Guess so." There was a small pause, and Trip thought of what a strange picture they must look, three Starfleet officers and a Denobulan doctor gathered around the bed of the Chief Engineer who was holding his newborn baby in his arms. It was a weird situation if there had ever been one, and certainly not what he had joined Starfleet for. And still, he couldn't help but smile at the idea.

"How're you feeling, Trip?" Jon studied him worriedly, and Trip guessed that he looked as weary and exhausted as he felt. His arms and legs were still strangely heavy, presumably an after-effect of the anesthesia, and he felt a dry ache in his throat.

"I'm okay."

"As to Commander Tucker's true condition," Phlox interrupted, raising his eyebrows at Trip, "I believe he is still rather tired, probably suffering from a sore throat, and in dire need of rest. I suggest the Lieutenant and Ensign Sato leave now; you can stay, Captain, but I must ask you to see to it that the Commander does not overexert himself." At Hoshi and Malcolm's disappointed looks he continued, "You can come back later, of course. But please refrain from bringing half of Engineering along when you come for your next visit. As I said, both the Commander and the child still need a lot of rest."

Malcolm nodded, and Hoshi stroked the baby's cheek again. "See you later."

Trip noticed that their words of goodbye were directed rather towards the child than him, and exchanged a dry glance with Jon after the door had slid shut. "See, she's already stealin' the show from me."

Jon grinned. "That was to be expected." He drew himself a chair, taking a seat next to the bed. "Can I hold her?"

Trip actually felt a little reluctant to let go of the small warm body snuggled in the crook of his arm, but it was the least he could do, allowing Jon to hold the child he had all but helped deliver.

"Sure," he said, and Phlox stepped forward, taking the baby from him and placing her into the Captain's arms. Jon sat rather stiffly at the first contact, just as Trip had. As his hand brushed her arm, there was a soft crackling sound, and the Captain's eyes widened in surprise. He touched her again, carefully, and the crackling repeated itself.

"Is it normal for that to happen?" he asked.

"I was rather surprised myself when I first noticed," Phlox said. "I can only guess what is causing this unique reaction. It would take further tests to verify its cause-"

"No way," Trip said quickly. Phlox looked surprised, and an amused twitch tugged at the corners of his mouth before he was able to cover it up.

"Commander, I have no intention of subjecting her to any tests that would harm her, physically or psychically. As I said, I can only guess what's causing this reaction. It might be a special form of telepathic energy. The data the Xyrillians transferred contained very little medical information, and this particular phenomenon is not mentioned at all."

Phlox' mention of the Xyrillian medical data reminded Trip of a question he'd been meaning to ask for some time now. "I've been wonderin', doc... you said with Xyrillians the baby's DNA is exclusively the mother's, and the father is only a host who carries the child to term." The doctor nodded. "So... is her DNA a direct replica of Ah'Len's genes? There've gotta be some differences."

"A very good question, Commander." Phlox beamed, delighted at being able to share some of his medical knowledge. "It's true, a Xyrillian baby's genetic structure develops solely from the mother's DNA, but of course it's not a clone or something of the like. I found out that, after the blastodermic tissue has been transferred to the male's body, certain hormones are being excreted which cause the mutation rate of the embryo's genes to increase at an abnormal speed. It is only logical to assume that in about half of the cases the mutations lead to a change of the embryo's sex, since the genes coming from the mother of course do not contain any male chromosomes. In your case this has obviously not happened, but your child is still not only a simple replica of her mother's genes. The mutations seem to not only concern the sex of the child, but also its looks as well as its physical and mental condition. It is really fascinating, the way the mutations create a new being that can actually be very different from its mother. There are, of course, certain similarities, but there is a high probability that for example hereditary diseases will be eliminated in the process."

Trip knew that Phlox could go on like that for hours, and interrupted when the doctor paused to take a breath. "So the male's DNA is not passed on to the next generation?"

Phlox seemed to understand what he was getting at. "No, Commander. The father's body only serves as a host. But from what I have learned, it is the father who is mainly responsible for bringing up and caring for the children. I believe it is safe to assume that most Xyrillian fathers have a very close relationship with their children, maybe even more so than the mother."

Trip nodded slowly. He'd assumed as much, judging from their two short encounters with the Xyrillians. It had been Ah'Len's male crewmates who had reacted with shock and disgust to the idea of transferring a fetus; she herself hadn't voiced any opinion concerning this obviously touchy subject.

Up until now, Jon's attention had been torn between the squawking baby in his arms and Phlox' lecture, but now he joined in the conversation.

"Speaking of child care, doc – will she be able to survive in this environment? I mean, the conditions on the Xyrillian ship were very different..."

"Oh, that's no problem at all." Phlox smiled. "Her metabolism is designed for slightly different pressure and gravity conditions, but I've developed a formula which will take care of that. All you'll have to do is add it to her food about once a week, Commander."

That reminded Trip of something. He bit his lip, not looking at Jon when he asked his next question.

"I'm not gonna have to..." He left the sentence unfinished, and only raised his left arm. The nipples he had grown shortly after his return from the Xyrillian ship were still there, covered by two pieces of white band-aid. Phlox raised his eyebrows.

"Feed the baby with these nipples? No, Commander. I assume the Xyrillian hormones have stimulated the development of these appendages, but in your case they are of course non-functional, as you do not have any mammary glands in your arm. I have analyzed her metabolic chemistry and so was able to synthesize a nutrient formula which will provide for her needs. I'll show you later how to feed her."

Trip nodded, suddenly feeling some of his earlier apprehension return. Talking to Phlox was only giving him a vague idea of all the things he would have to learn, and learn fast. He'd never before taken care of a baby, much less an alien one, and from now on it would be his responsibility to care for this child, and ensure her health and well-being.

"Doctor..." Jon's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I think she's fallen asleep."

Trip turned his head, and saw that the baby's eyes had closed, her small hands resting on her chest. Phlox smiled as he picked her up.

"Yes, she's had quite a busy day. Or night, for that matter." He gently lowered the sleeping child back into her cot, checking the heat regulator on the side of the container before he turned back to his other patient. "The same goes for you, Commander. You're still recovering from major surgery, and I'd say you've had enough excitement for one morning."

"Morning?" Trip asked. He'd lost all sense of time, and was surprised to hear that it was actually "daytime" at the moment. For some reason it felt like the middle of the night to him.

"Yes, it's 1030 ship's time. I suggest you try to rest now, Commander."

Trip opened his mouth to protest, but then realized that he was, indeed, tired. In fact he was hardly able to keep his eyes open anymore.

"Get some sleep, Trip," Jon said, getting up from his chair, and briefly laying a hand on Trip's shoulder. "I'll be back later."

"Jon..."

The Captain turned around again. "Yes?"

Trip bit his lip. "Thanks. You know, for stayin' with me earlier. I know it must've been quite... unpleasant to watch. But... well, I jus' wanted to say that I appreciate what you did."

Jon smiled. "You're welcome. And don't forget, we still have to watch that game."

"Yeah right." Trip answered the Captain's grin. "I don't want to miss it when Monterey lose."

"Forget it, Commander." At the door, Jon turned around one more time. "Sleep well, Trip."

The bulkhead slid shut, and Trip lay back on his pillow, closing his eyes. He heard Phlox busy himself with the bio screen above his head, but the doctor didn't try to talk to him, and Trip had no wish to start another conversation. Sleep was tugging at the edges of his mind, and he welcomed the feeling, giving in to it and allowing himself to drift off. Later there would be time enough for talking.

XXX

When Trip woke up again, it was very quiet around him. Someone had half-shut the curtains surrounding his bed, and the lights were dimmed, the only bright glow coming from the bio screens on the wall. Slowly, still a little disoriented from sleeping, Trip turned his head and saw Malcolm sitting on the chair next to his bed. He was reading a book, holding it close to his face to be able to make out the words in the dim light. Trip squinted to make out the title on the cover of the old paperback, but in the semi-darkness wasn't able to read the small letters.

"You're gonna ruin your eyes, Malcolm," he said, causing Reed to jump and lower the book.

"Commander!" Malcolm laid the book on the nightstand, and now Trip was able to read its title: _Three Men in a Boat_. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Only just woke up." Leaning forward, Trip picked up the book, and leafed through its pages. "My sister Lizzy read that when she was in high school. She said it was funny, though a little weird."

Malcolm gave a slightly embarrassed smile. "I read it as a kid, and found it in an old bookshop back in San Francisco shortly before we left spacedock. I don't really know why I brought it along."

Trip read a few lines and smiled. "I'd like to borrow it one day."

"You're very welcome, Commander," Malcolm said, formal as ever. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." Trip raised his hand to cover a yawn and took a look around. "What time is it?"

"About four in the afternoon." Malcolm paused. "The Captain was here about half an hour ago, but he said he didn't want to wake you up. He's been talking to your parents."

Trip sighed. "What did they say?"

"They want you to call as soon as possible." Malcolm seemed a little uncomfortable, relating the Captain's private calls. "Your sister said to say hello as well, and she wants to know why she wasn't invited to the baby shower."

"Lizzy." Trip groaned, and Malcolm hastened to add, "I'm only saying what the Captain told me."

"I know." Trip could clearly picture Lizzy's face when she had heard the news, and knew that this wouldn't be the end of it by far. His little sister excelled at teasing her brother about his talent for disaster, and Trip knew that now she had enough ammunition to last her for several years.

Before he had the time to ponder on his misery, however, a noise came from the direction of the cot. A short, angry whine, then a pause, and a brief moment later the baby began to cry. Her wailing was surprisingly loud, and Trip tried to sit up, swearing under his breath when a dizzy spell washed over him. The baby cried louder, and Trip pushed his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling he had to get over there even though he had no idea what to do.

Malcolm had gotten up from his chair as well. "Commander, the doctor said you're supposed to stay in bed..."

"Well, I can't just let her scream, can I?" Trip felt a painful tugging in his left hand, and realized that he was still hooked up to the drip. Blinking furiously to get rid of the giddy feeling, he groped for the IV needle, but Malcolm caught him by the wrist before he could pull out the plug.

"You're not supposed to get up, Commander!"

The baby's cries were getting louder and louder, and between Malcolm hindering his way and the dizzy spell Trip felt something like panic rise within him.

"Can't you hear that she's cryin'? There's gotta be somethin' you do when a baby's cryin'!"

Malcolm's hand was still firmly on his shoulder. "She's probably just hungry. You'll have to give her her bottle."

Finally, the dizzy feeling subsided, and the room took clear shape again. "I can't," Trip said, raising his voice to be heard over the racket. "Phlox hasn't taught me how to feed her yet, and I-"

"Maybe I can show you."

Trip stared at the Lieutenant. "You?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Well, as I said, Phlox let me watch when he fed her this morning. You lie back down, and I'll go and get a bottle."

The Lieutenant disappeared through the door, and Trip reluctantly lay back on the mattress, fighting the urge to jump out of bed and rush over to where the baby was screaming her head off. He'd probably only end up passing out on the floor, and there wasn't much use in knocking himself out only to be lectured by Phlox afterwards on how important it was not to overexert himself.

The door opened again, and Malcolm returned, carrying a small feeding bottle with a thick, white liquid inside. With a calm Trip certainly didn't feel at the moment, Reed propped up the bed and handed Trip the bottle, then walked over to the cot. Trip was impressed when he saw how Reed quickly and efficiently picked up the screaming baby, then carried her over to the bed. The child stopped crying for a moment when she was placed in his arms, but then opened her mouth again and screamed even louder than before. Bottle in hand, Trip looked up at Malcolm.

"And now?"

"Be careful to support her head so she doesn't have any trouble swallowing, and then gently touch the corner of her mouth with the bottle's teat."

Hesitatingly, Trip followed Malcolm's directions, and to his surprise the baby stopped crying immediately, her mouth searching the bottle and finding it less than a second later. She began to suck, and Trip looked up at Malcolm.

"See?" Reed smiled. "She was just hungry."

Trip shook his head. "How the heck did you know what to do?"

Malcolm shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Well, I watched Phlox, and it didn't seem that hard. Be careful to set down the bottle from time to time so she can swallow."

Returning his attention to the baby who had already emptied a fourth of the small container, Trip felt a smile tug at his lips.

"You know, it should have been you goin' to the Xyrillian ship, not me. You're a natural talent."

Malcolm snorted. "No, thank you very much."

The baby's eyes had closed, and her features were no longer pulled into an unhappy grimace. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her meal, and Trip realized that this whole feeding business was a lot easier than he had imagined. When he set down the bottle like Malcolm had told him, he noticed a thin trickle of white liquid running down her chin. Using the corner of his sheets, he gently cleaned off the dribbled fluid, then let her continue her dinner.

"Looks like I'm gettin' the hang of it," he said, and Malcolm nodded.

"I told you, it's easy."

They both watched her as she continued to suck, and the sight caused a sense of wonder in Trip. Less than twenty-four hours ago he hadn't yet known whether he was going to survive at all, and here he was, being taught how to feed the baby by Malcolm Reed, of all people. Glancing at Malcolm from the corner of his eye, he noticed the soft expression on Reed's usually stoic features when he looked at the child. Trip suddenly remembered the intensity in Malcolm's dry voice when they'd had their conversation in messhall more than six weeks ago. Then, and only a few moments ago he'd gotten a glimpse of a hidden side of Reed, a side no one would have expected in the quiet Lieutenant who had that strange love for explosions, and was so reluctant to "fraternize" with his fellow officers. Trip suspected that few people had ever seen it, and the fact that in his presence Reed allowed himself to lower his defenses made him proud.

"Have you thought about what you're going to call her?" Malcolm asked softly, bringing Trip back to the present. He hesitated. He'd been thinking about it, of course, and the padd with the underlined names was still stored away in the drawer back in his quarters, but somehow none of the names he had chosen seemed to fit. In his mind's eye, his subconscious had always pictured a human baby, a chubby baby girl with rosy cheeks and curly hair. In connection with the child in his arms, none of those names sounded quite right.

"I don't know," he said finally. "She's... she's so different, y'know what I mean?"

Malcolm nodded. "Calling her Anna or Lisa doesn't sound right, does it?"

"No." Trip sighed. "But I guess I'll have to think of somethin' soon."

Malcolm was silent for a moment. "Why not give her a Xyrillian name?"

The question startled Trip, for some reason. "A Xyrillian name? The only girl's name I know is Ah'Len, and I'm not sure I want to call her that."

Malcolm shook his head. "I didn't think so. But you could look up the names in the data the Xyrillians sent us when you first went over to their ship. I asked the Captain if I could go through it to look up their weapon technology, and as far as I remember there were quite a few names mentioned in the historical and cultural part. Maybe you'll find one you like."

Trip hadn't yet thought of that possibility, but it seemed like a good idea. He had no intention of naming the child after her mother, but a Xyrillian name sounded like a solution he could live with. And it wouldn't hurt, reading a little about the Xyrillian culture in general.

"I think I'm gonna give it a try. Thanks, Malcolm."

Reed smiled. "You're welcome."

A small noise came from below, and Trip turned his attention back to the child. She had finished her meal, but for some reason seemed restless, squirming in his arms and squawking rather unhappily. Trip frowned.

"You think there's somethin' wrong?"

Malcolm grinned. "Well, not really. But you're going to have to burp her so she doesn't get a stomach ache."

"Right." Trip looked down at the baby, not really sure what to do next.

"It's easy. Phlox showed me how to do it. Just pick her up so that she's facing you, like that." Malcolm demonstrated with his hands. "Put her head on your shoulder and then gently pat her back until she... well, burps."

Impressed that Malcolm seemed to have memorized all the intricacies of feeding a baby, Trip did exactly as he said, and was soon rewarded with the sound of a small belch, followed by a warm and wet feeling on his shoulder. Malcolm's eyes widened.

"Oh, I forgot. Phlox said always put a napkin on your shoulder before burping her, or she'll spit it all over you." He threw a rueful glance at the wet spot on Trip's sickbay pajama. "Sorry, Commander."

"Never mind." Trip smiled dryly. "If it hadn't been for you, she'd probably still be screamin', and I'd be climbin' the walls by now."

After she'd relieved herself of the air in her stomach the baby quieted down again, and a few minutes later her eyes had closed shut. Trip took her back down, resting her head in the crook of his arm. She slept on peacefully, and he realized that he was rapidly getting used to holding her in his arms like that, a feeling that had been completely alien only a few hours ago. Thinking of how Malcolm had shown him how to feed her, a not-quite-so-old memory came to his mind and he smiled. Reed raised his eyebrows.

"What's so funny?"

Trip shook his head. "Remember that time in messhall? When you told me you were goin' to help me? Well, I guess neither of us envisioned quite that situation at the time."

Reed bit his lip. Trip saw a smile in the corner of his mouth, but there was not only amusement to his expression when he answered.

"Probably not." He paused briefly. "And neither did I have any right to tell you what to do. Commander, I want to apologize-"

"Don't." Trip shook his head, and continued firmly, "Don't apologize, Malcolm. I'm glad you talked to me that night. You know, in a way I knew right from the beginnin' that undergoin' the operation was not an option, but I'd probably have realized only when it was already too late." He swallowed. It wasn't easy to talk about these things, especially not while he was holding the baby in his arms. It triggered feelings of guilt within him, guilt and at the same time deep relief that he had decided against what had seemed the only reasonable solution at the time.

"But you could have died." Malcolm didn't seem ready to forgive himself that easily. Trip sighed.

"Yes, I could have. And she could have died as well. But it didn't happen, and that's what's important, don't you think?"

Malcolm looked up, and this time the smile lingered on his lips. He didn't say anything, but Trip saw that his words hadn't fallen on deaf ears. There seemed nothing to add, and so they sat in silence for a while, listening to the almost inaudible breathing of the sleeping child.

Trip felt strange. Everything seemed like it ought to be, and still the situation was weirder than anything else he'd ever seen in his life. In complete ignorance of her own contribution to that weirdness, the baby in his arms slept like there wasn't a worry in the world, and only for the moment Trip decided to follow her example, leaning back in the pillow and allowing his thoughts to drift. He was scared, of course, but in a way, he realized to his own surprise, he was also very curious to see what the future had in store.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Emiliana Keladry, Luna, Rinne, WhtevrHpnd2Mary, The Libran Iniquity, Gabi, Elizabeth Annette, JM9 and Exploded Pen for reviewing.

Chapter 13... please r&r!

-----------------------------

Chapter 13

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Commander." Phlox seemed rather disgruntled, deliberately not turning to look at Trip as he stored away the box with the formula on a high shelf. "You've had major surgery only five days ago, and as much as I appreciate your taking short walks, I do not think that Engineering is the ideal destination."

"Come on, doc." Trip slid off the biobed he'd been sitting on, following Phlox to the back of the room. It was the second day he was up, and his legs still felt a little wobbly, but that didn't stop him from keeping up with Phlox as the doctor fastened his pace. This time Phlox wasn't going to shake him off that easily. "I'm fed up with starin' at the sickbay walls, and besides, I need to check what's goin' on in my department. I haven't been in Engineerin' for nearly four weeks!"

Phlox didn't seem very impressed. "You can read Lieutenant Hess' reports if you are interested in the details of Engineering protocol. As to your staring at the sickbay walls, I believe Mr. Reed provided you with several of those horror movies you are so fond of watching. I think he brought you enough to keep you busy for several hours."

Trip ignored Phlox' wishful tone of voice, and leaned against the counter next to the doc.

"I've tried watchin' those, but Arh'Leen doesn't like them."

Phlox threw him a dry look. "The baby doesn't like your horror movies?"

Trip shrugged. "Starts whinin' every time the sound track gets too loud. I don't wanna scare her."

The doctor sighed, his hands resting on the edge of the counter. "Very well, Commander. Half an hour."

"Thanks, doc." Trip grinned, wisely not arguing the restricted time limit the doctor had set. "I'll just go get her ready, and we're off."

"Take an extra blanket with you," Phlox called after him as he went over to the IC unit. "We don't want her to catch a cold, hm?"

"Got it." Trip pushed the button to open the door, the prospect of leaving sickbay – even for a short time - filling him with renewed energy. He wasn't going to tell Phlox, but staying up for a longer period of time still made him feel rather weak and dizzy. The scar on his abdomen, even though it had shocked him at first sight by its sheer size, didn't really hurt due to the pain medication he was given, but the rest of his body was only slowly recovering. When he'd first tried solid food again after almost a month of intravenous feeding, his stomach had simply refused to cooperate, bringing back an unpleasant reminder of the time when he'd been sick like a dog each and every damned morning. In the meantime his digestion had more or less normalized again, but Trip knew that it would still take quite some time for his weakened metabolism to recuperate.

On entering the room, he noticed that Arh'Leen was awake. He'd put her down for her afternoon nap not too long ago, but she never seemed to sleep for more than three or four hours at the most.

Trip bent over the cot, smiling when her head turned and her eyes came to rest on him.

"Hey there."

Carefully lifting her out of her crib, he felt the bottom of her stretchsuit and nodded in satisfaction when he realized that her diaper didn't need to be changed just yet. The baby squawked happily as always when someone picked her up, and didn't protest when she was lowered into the sling Trip wore across his chest. These days, he hardly bothered taking off the soft cotton wrap anymore. Arh'Leen seemed to enjoy the physical contact, and Trip didn't mind at all, carrying her around during most of her waking time.

Remembering Phlox' advise, he picked up one of the blankets stacked on the small table next to her cot, and wrapped it around her.

"We're goin' for a walk," he told her, pressing the button to open the door. "Time you saw a little more of the ship."

Phlox looked over from the counter where he was busy strewing dry feed into one of his tanks. "Remember, Commander, you have to be back in half an hour at the latest. And if I hear you've been climbing any ladders-"

"Don't worry, doc." Trip quickly crossed the room before Phlox changed his mind and told him to stay, after all. "We're gonna be just fine."

As the sickbay doors slid shut behind him, Trip let out a sigh of relief. "Can you believe it," he said to Arh'Leen, adjusting the blanket so her head was covered as well, "we actually made it out of there."

Walking down the corridor towards the turbo lift, Trip realized that he was feeling better than he had in a long time. He'd been bedridden for so long that walking, actually going somewhere seemed to him like an unfamiliar and at the same time wonderful experience. He wasn't back in uniform yet, but at least he could wear actual clothing again instead of sickbay pajamas or – even worse – the one-piece hospital gowns. Besides, Trip had to admit that he felt rather comfortable in his loose pants and t-shirt. The skin on his abdomen was still sensitive to touch, and having the uniform rub against his scar didn't seem like a very good idea.

The turbolift was empty, and Trip leaned against the wall, allowing himself a moment's rest. Arh'Leen was unusually quiet, her eyes big as she stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, and Trip wrapped a protective arm around her. The layers of clothing between his hand and her back prevented the usual energy discharge, but the baby seemed to calm down at the touch.

"Hey, it's okay," he said. "Just goin' for a short visit. We'll be back in no time."

He left the turbo lift and walked down the corridor, feeling anticipation build in his stomach as he approached the door to Engineering. After Phlox had relieved him of duty, he'd often wished he could take a walk down here, just to see what was going on, but of course the doctor hadn't allowed it. Not to mention that at the time Trip would have collapsed only half-way out of his quarters. Still, he'd found his thoughts returning to his department, and even though Lieutenant Hess had dutifully sent him every report she'd written during his absence, Trip felt the need to see for himself that everything was still up to scratch.

He was just reaching out for the handle when the door suddenly swung open. Trip hastily took a step backwards so as not to bump into the person who briskly stepped out.

"Hey, Pam."

Ensign Kelly's eyes widened, then her face broke into a broad grin.

"Boss!" She turned around, addressing no one in particular as she yelled, "Hey guys, the boss is back!"

"What?"

Trip heard several surprised voices talking at the same time and felt Kelly's hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward. Lieutenant Hess climbed down the ladder from the upper level so quickly her foot got caught between the rungs and she stumbled, holding on to Michael Rostov's arm to keep herself from falling. Neither of them seemed to mind, both grinning like mad Cheshire cats as Trip came in. Kelly still had her hand on his shoulder , and a moment later they were surrounded by a crowd of people who were making a racket loud enough to drown out even the engine's steady hum.

"Commander!" Hess' face was glowing as she cleared a path through the crowd. She made as if to pull him into a hug, but stopped short when her eyes fell on the baby. "Is that-"

"That's Arh'Leen, yeah." Trip smiled. "The doc said we could go for a short walk and I thought I'd take her for a tour round Engineerin'."

"May I?"

Trip nodded, and Hess carefully stroked the baby's head, her eyes widening when she felt the soft crackling. "That's amazing."

Arh'Leen, who'd seemed rather intimidated at first by all the unfamiliar faces around her, apparently enjoyed the touch, and didn't mind when several other hands followed.

"I'm so glad you're feeling better, Commander," Hess said softly next to his ear as Crewman Howells pushed Kelly aside to get a better look at the baby. "You had us awfully worried."

"It's good to be back," Trip said simply. It was a lot more than that, but he couldn't put the feeling into words. Just being here in Engineering, surrounded by his staff, and knowing that soon he would be able to resume his work meant a lot. It would probably still take a while until Phlox allowed him to return to full duties, but Trip didn't really care. After all these weeks in a drug-induced coma, waiting a few more days wouldn't hurt.

"Okay, guys, give it a break!" Hess held up a hand, and the crowd stopped pushing, reluctantly moving back a few steps. "We're all very happy to have Commander Tucker back, but he's still supposed to take it easy. Aren't you, Commander?"

Trip nodded, knowing it was no use arguing when Hess switched to protective mode. Crewman Fuller who'd fought her way to the front gingerly extended a hand to stroke the baby's head.

"You said her name was Aileen?"

"It's Arh'Leen." In the meantime Trip had gotten used to people mishearing the baby's name, and continued explaining, "It's a Xyrillian name. Hoshi told me it's pronounced slightly different in their language, but it does sound a little like Aileen."

"Oh." Fuller ran her finger over the bronze scales again, watching in wonder as the baby's skin took on a faint blue glow where they touched.

"So..." Trip turned to Hess. "The stabilizers still makin' trouble? You mentioned some energy fluctuations in your last report."

"There were some small fluctuations in the distributors, caused by the nebula, I guess. Rostov and me took care of the problem."

Hess began to stroll down the narrow gangway next to the reactor, and Trip followed, smiling for no reason in particular. It was a good feeling, walking through Engineering and talking business with Hess, just like he used to do every day before all of this had happened. The crowd around them slowly dispersed, people stroking Arh'Leen's head or clapping him on the shoulder before they returned to their stations one by one.

"At the moment it's rather quiet down here, anyway," Hess said, throwing the reactor an almost wistful glance. "We've shut down warp drive more than a week ago when we entered the nebula, and aside from those fluctuations there wasn't much to keep us busy. Except from worrying about you."

Hess smiled when she said it, but Trip still felt his cheeks grow warm. He could easily imagine his entire department gathered around the intercom during his operation, anxiously waiting for news, and while he was touched by their concern, it wasn't exactly a situation he felt comfortable with.

"So..." Hess came to a halt next to a console, routinely checking the data on the screen. "The doctor didn't release you to your quarters yet?"

Trip sighed. "Believe me, I've tried every trick in the book, but he said I've gotta stay at least another three or four days. And there's still a little rearrangin' I've got to do before I go back."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Already found a place where to put the cradle?"

Trip grimaced, though he couldn't help but answer her grin. "We'll see about that."

"Oh, by the way..." Hess turned around to face him, and the teasing glint in her eyes told him she wasn't finished yet. "The crew have started a little collection, you know, stuff for the baby and the like."

Trip's eyes widened. "They haven't."

"Oh yes." Hess bit her lip. "Mike even donated his teddy to the cause."

"And I take it they took it all to my quarters."

She nodded. "Two whole boxes, as far as I remember."

Trip shook his head, trying to imagine his quarters furnished with a crib and shelves for layette and diapers. The idea certainly needed getting used to, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Well, I guess I'll be needin' it more sooner than later."

Hess smiled. "At least you'll always have a dozen enthusiastic babysitters handy when you need an evening off."

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Babysitters?"

"Yep." Hess looked over her shoulder. "Yesterday I overheard Liz Cutler and Pam fighting who gets to ask you first." She grinned. "Your little lady seems to have recruited quite a fan club."

Not sure whether to feel amused or scared, Trip glanced down at the baby's head that was nestled against his chest. Arh'Leen's eyes were closed and she slept, completely ignorant of the fact that a whole starship crew seemed to be going crazy about her. He felt a smile tug at his lips at the thought.

"Well, looks like we're in for some fun."

XXX

"Be careful not to splash her face."

"I _know_, doc."

Trip carefully swished the water across the baby's stomach, then wet a washcloth and began to gently wash her face, wishing Phlox would stop hovering anxiously in the background. Granted, it was the first time he did the bathing job himself, but he'd come a long way since Malcolm had first taught him how to feed a baby. Three days ago it had still taken him almost five minutes to change her diaper, but in the meantime he was down to three minutes and improving. Despite his student's progress, however, the doctor was still rather anxious when it came to passing on jobs he'd previously taken care of himself.

Arh'Leen, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind being handed over to less experienced staff; she happily kicked the water with her feet, obviously enjoying the warmth and the attention she was given. Trip smiled, and proceeded to wash her arms and legs.

"Doc..."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is it okay if I take the tub with me when I go back to my quarters? It'd be a little awkward to take her to sickbay every time she needs bathin'."

Phlox smiled. "No problem. I'll find something else to put my eels in when I'm cleaning their tank."

"Great, thanks." Trip decided to ignore the fact that he was bathing a baby in a container that had previously been a temporary home for a family of Denobulan fire eels. Living in close contact with the doctor's menagerie cured you rather effectively of any squeamishness you might still have left.

Running the wash cloth over the baby's hands and feet one last time, Trip carefully lifted her out of the tub. Arh'Leen squawked in protest, and he quickly laid her down on the towel lying nearby, wrapping it snugly around her until only her face was still visible. The baby squirmed, trying to get her freedom back, and after he'd dried off her arms and legs Trip unwrapped the towel again, allowing her to kick the air and wave her arms about to her heart's content.

"Careful so she doesn't fall off," Phlox called from the other end of the room, and Trip rolled his eyes. Picking up a diaper, he unfolded it and gently lifted the baby by the ankles, slipping the nappy underneath her.

"Sorry," he smiled, pulling up the front between her legs and fastening the tabs, "I know you don't like those things."

Indeed, Arh'Leen seemed to love being in direct physical contact with her environment with no restricting layer of clothes on her skin. Trip supposed it had something to do with the sensitive abilities of the Xyrillian skin, but Phlox had made it clear that it was necessary for Arh'Leen to always wear warm enough clothing. The ship's temperature was slightly lower than what Xyrillians were used to, and a cold was the last thing they needed at the moment.

At the sound of the door swishing open Trip turned around. Jon entered, wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of his uniform, and Trip saw that he was holding something in his hand which he quickly hid behind his back when Phlox came nearer.

"Ah, Captain." The doctor smiled. "Is there something I can do for you, or did you just come to see Commander Tucker?"

"Everything's fine, doc." He grinned at Trip. "I just thought we could finally watch that game tonight. That is, if it's okay with you, doc."

Phlox held up his hands. "Perfectly fine. Actually I was planning to finish some experiments in the science lab this evening, so you'll have sickbay all to yourself."

"Great." Jon was still hiding his hands behind his back, and Trip wondered what he was up to. Phlox didn't seem to have noticed, gathering up some sample containers before he set off for the door.

"Oh, Commander..."

Trip raised his head. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget to raise the temperature of Arh'Leen's cot by two or three degrees when you put her to bed."

"I _know_, doc."

Phlox smiled broadly and left, with the contented air of a man who knew that he had everyone in the palm of his hand. As soon as the sickbay doors had slid shut, Jon produced two small cylindrical objects from behind his back, and Trip recognized them as two cans of beer.

"Well," Jon smiled apologetically, "it wouldn't be the real thing without, would it?"

Trip grinned. "We'll just have to be careful that he doesn't catch us."

He'd never asked Phlox whether he was allowed to consume alcoholic beverages just yet, but knew from experience that the doctor was rather reluctant allow any activity that sounded like fun.

"Just let me get her ready for bed and we can start."

Jon came closer, watching as Trip eased the stretchsuit's sleeve over Arh'Leen's right arm, then repeated the procedure with the left one.

"You know, you're getting to be really good at this." He waved a hand at the bath tub, including the assembly of diapers, bottles and napkins next to it.

Trip grimaced. "Tell that to the doc. He's fussin' all the time, tellin' me the same things over and over again."

Jon bit his lip. "I'm sure he means well."

"I know." Noticing Jon run a hand over his mouth to hide a grin, Trip decided to drop the subject. In the meantime, Arh'Leen was fully dressed, and he lifted her up, with one hand gathering up the bottle he'd prepared.

"Wanna come along? I still have to give her her bottle before I put her to bed."

"Sure." Jon followed him, pushing the button to open the door as Trip literally had his hands full. Arh'Leen, who knew the procedure, began to squirm impatiently, squawking in anticipation.

"Hey, slow down there, jus' a moment."

Taking a seat on the chair next to his bed, Trip rested her head in the crook of his arm, and brought the bottle to her lips. A moment later Arh'Leen was sucking eagerly, her eyes half-closing as she enjoyed her meal. Jon sat on the edge of the biobed, a smile crossing his lips at the sight.

"Bathing sure stirred her appetite, didn't it?"

"Seems so." Trip wiped some dribbled formula off her chin. "But then, she's always hungry in the evenin'." He sighed. "Doesn't keep her from havin' a midnight snack, of course."

Jon raised his eyebrows, his expression a mixture of amusement and sympathy. "She doesn't sleep through?"

Trip shook his head. "No. Usually wakes up about five or six times every night, more often when she's had a bad day. The first few nights Phlox took care of her, but two days ago he told me it was time I started gettin' used to my parental duties."

Again, Jon ran a hand over his mouth. "Speaking of which, Trip..."

Trip looked up. "Yeah?"

"Phlox told me you won't be fit to go back on duty for at least another two weeks, but we'll have to find an arrangement once you return to work."

Trip sighed; hearing that the "few days" of sick leave he'd had in mind were actually another two weeks didn't exactly help to lift his mood. And there was of course the problem that he had to split his time between Arh'Leen and his department, which was going to be far from easy. "Well, I can't really take her down to Engineerin' with me."

"That's what Phlox said." Jon hesitated, as always when he was about to say something Trip wasn't going to like. "Listen, Trip, I talked to the doc, and he offered to take care of Arh'Leen." Jon paused. "In the morning."

Trip stared at him. "And in the afternoon?"

Jon shifted on the edge of the bed. "He said he'd also look after her two or three afternoons a week, but the rest of the days you'll, ah, be on half-time duties."

Trip didn't know what to say. The idea of spending less time in his department admittedly didn't sit well with him, but at the same time he knew that it could have been a lot worse. He could have been ordered to leave Enterprise altogether, and remembering how he'd lain awake at night, asking himself what the hell he was going to do if worse came to worse and they ordered him back, after all, he had to admit that half-time duties didn't sound so bad in comparison.

"Well," he said, realizing that Jon expected an answer, "I guess I can do some work in my quarters as well."

Jon nodded, apparently relieved. "Sure you can. And Trip... " He paused briefly. "If you ever need something, I'm here, okay? I can imagine it's going to be pretty rough at times, but I want you to know that you can come to me anytime you want."

Trip smiled. "Thanks, Jon." He had no illusions about the fact that he was probably going to take the Captain up on that offer. A wry smile came to his lips when he thought of the comment about working mothers he'd made in the Captain's mess all those weeks ago. Soon his offhand remark was going to become reality, and Trip knew that "pretty rough" was probably an understatement. In more ways than one.

"You know..." he began, not looking at Jon while he was talking. "Sometimes when I think of how it's goin' to be... you know, when she gets older and all... I'm just scared. I don't know whether I can take the responsibility. She's gonna have to deal with a lot of things, bein' different, facin' people's prejudices... And I don't know if I'll be able to give her the support she needs." He raised his eyes. "What if I'm not, Jon? I couldn't even stand up to those crewpeople myself when they were gossipin' about me. It was T'Pol who told them to keep their big mouths shut. What if..." He hesitated, and then spoke what had been on his mind for a long time. "What if she'll hate me when she's older? At the moment she doesn't know she's different, but she'll realize soon enough, and maybe she'll blame me for puttin' her into this situation." Trip shook his head. "I guess what scares me most is that I don't really know if I'll be able to... to cope."

Jon was silent for a moment, and part of Trip regretted that he'd spoiled the light, bantering mood between them. The Captain had come to watch a waterpolo match, and instead had to play counselor for his Chief Engineer who seemed uniquely gifted in finding more trouble than he could deal with. Trip sighed.

"Sorry, Jon. I don't know why I'm tellin' you this-"

"Trip." Jon's voice made him look up. "It's okay. You need to talk about this, and as I said, I'm here whenever you need me." He paused. "Trip, I don't know if you're aware of it, but you're coping a lot better than anyone could have expected you to. You almost died, spent weeks in a coma, you had major surgery only a few days ago, and now you're already up and about, talking about going back to work." Jon sighed. "I understand you are worried, but give it time, okay? I know you, Trip, and I know that you'll manage. You'll do fine. I'm sure of that."

A small noise from below interrupted him. Arh'Leen had finished her bottle and was becoming restless, squirming and kicking her feet. Trip placed a napkin on his shoulder and lifted her up, patting her on the back and rocking her gently at the same time.

"You know, maybe you're right, and I'm worryin' too much." He smiled wryly. "Never thought I was gonna say this one day, but maybe T'Pol was right about those parental feelings. I just don't want her to be unhappy."

Jon regarded him for a moment. "We'll all do our best to help you, Trip. And as to your standing up to people, I think you're going to do just fine. You're awfully protective of your staff, and you've always backed them up when they needed your support. I'm not saying it won't be difficult, but you're not alone in this, either." He smiled. "Arh'Leen is a member of my crew, so in a way she's my responsibility just as well."

Trip answered his smile. "Thanks, Jon."

That moment the baby gave a small burp. Trip wiped her mouth with the napkin, then wrapped a blanket around her as he always did after her feeding. The combined warmth and physical contact seemed to help her relax, and soon her eyes closed, her breathing becoming slow and even.

"Just a moment," he whispered to Jon, and they both sat very quietly as the baby quieted down, slipping deeper into sleep. After a while Trip carefully got up. "Okay, I think we can try now."

Very gently he lowered her into her cot, and let out a sigh of relief when she slept on, not stirring as he tucked her up. Making sure her feet were covered by the blanket, Trip adjusted the heat regulator to a slightly higher temperature, then turned to Jon.

"Let's go."

They tiptoed to the door, and to Trip's relief there was no protesting cry from the cot as he dimmed the light, pressing the button to open the door. Once outside, Jon wiped his forehead.

"It's a full-time job, isn't it?"

"Tell me about it." Trip sighed dramatically, plopping down on one of the biobeds. "So, let's get started! I've been waitin' to see those guys lose for quite some time now."

"Insubordination, Commander." The Captain handed him one of the beer cans and pulled a small data chip from his pocket. "And a rather sad illusion as well."

Inserting the chip, Jon turned the bio monitor so he had a clear view of the screen as well, then took a seat on the chair next to the bed. It wasn't really the most comfortable way of following the events on the screen, but Trip didn't mind. The mere fact that he was watching a waterpolo match together with Jon reminded him of the way things had been _before_, and it was reassuring to know that he could still get parts of his old life back.

Opening his can of beer, he clunked it against Jon's and took a big sip, the drink still a little too bitter on his taste buds which had been inactive for so long. The match had started, and Trip leaned back, watching as the players quickly passed the ball to each other. After only a few minutes Monterey's midfield player botched his first scoring chance, and Jon groaned.

"What is it with that guy, I thought they'd substituted him after the quarter finals anyw-"

"Bridge to Captain Archer."

T'Pol's voice came from the intercom on the wall, drowning out the sound of the match. His eyes still on the screen, Jon got up to answer the call.

"Archer here."

"Captain, an alien vessel is approaching on an intercept course." She paused. "I suggest you come to the bridge, sir."

"On my way. Archer out."

Sighing, Jon turned around. "Sorry, Trip. Looks like you'll have to watch it on your own."

Seeing the disappointment in the Captain's eyes, Trip leaned forward and switched off the monitor. "We'll watch it another time. That's no problem." He hesitated, then decided that it couldn't hurt to try. "Cap'n, can I-"

"No, Trip." Jon shook his head. "You're still not discharged from sickbay, and I don't want you to exhaust yourself by wandering round the ship."

He was already on his way to the door when he turned around again. "I'll keep you updated, okay?"

Trip nodded, watching glumly as the sickbay doors slid shut behind the Captain. He hated being locked up in the doctor's little private prison, but knew he'd catch hell from both Jon and Phlox if he sneaked out to see what was going on. Besides, someone had to be here in case Arh'Leen woke up. Lying back with a sigh, Trip stared at the stainless white of the sickbay ceiling and wondered what the hell was going on up there.

XXX

T'Pol rose from the command chair the moment Archer entered the bridge.

"Captain," she said, her voice sounding a little too controlled for his tastes. "They're still on an intercept course, and approaching our current position."

The Captain frowned, watching the small vessel which was rapidly coming nearer. Somehow its sleek design seemed vaguely familiar to him.

"Have you tried hailing them?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Not yet, sir," Hoshi said. "They're not quite within comm range."

Archer turned to T'Pol who had taken her place at the science station. "Life signs?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Archer, who was used to getting quick answers from his Vulcan science officer, raised his eyebrows. "T'Pol?"

She looked up, and even though her face didn't betray any emotions, Archer knew that she found her findings to be... intriguing, to say the least. "There are two life signs aboard the vessel, Captain." T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "They're both Xyrillian, sir."

Before Archer had the chance to react, Hoshi spoke up again. "We're being hailed, sir."

"On the screen."

He swallowed, watching as Hoshi pressed a few buttons on her console. The stars disappeared, transforming into flickering light, but then the image cleared, and a familiar face appeared on the view screen.

"Captain Archer," said Ah'Len.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to JM9, TripGirl05, Luna, Aelan Greenleaf, Gabi, Emiliana Keladry, Rinne, Maraschino, The Libran Iniquity, Elizabeth Annette, Exploded Pen, LadyDi-Star Trek and Quickbeam1 (for Chapters 12 and 13) for reviewing!

Hope you'll like Chapter 14... please read and review!

-----------------------------

Chapter 14

It took Archer a moment to recover from his initial shock. Squaring his shoulders, he tried for his voice to sound neutral as he answered.

"Ah'Len." He paused briefly, noticing that she was no longer wearing the tight-fitting silvery uniform, but a loose gown that had the rusty color of her skin. "What do you want?"

It came out somewhat sharper than he'd intended it to, but Ah'Len seemed to have expected no different. She appeared nervous, her voice tight as she spoke.

"I'm so glad we've finally found you, Captain. S'Raan and I have been searching for weeks..."

"What do you want?" Archer repeated, surprised at his own reaction to the woman on the screen. Granted, he'd been furious at her when they'd left the Xyrillian ship, but that seemed like an eternity ago. Now, he found himself feeling almost sorry for her. Ah'Len hesitated briefly before she continued.

"Captain, after what happened back on Tr'Nal's ship... I found myself unable to go on as if nothing had happened. I... I knew that I hadn't told the truth about what happened in the holographic chamber, and even though Tr'Nal believed me, I... realized I couldn't leave it at that." She paused, her face a rigid mask as she fought to keep her voice calm. "I resigned from the service and talked to my partner on Thera. He was willing to help me search for your ship, and... have your doctor transfer the fetus to his body once we had found you."

"Well, it's a little late for that." Archer didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Ah'Len lowered her gaze.

"It took us five weeks until we finally discovered your warp trace. We've been flying at maximum speed ever since. Captain..." She looked up, and Archer saw the genuine despair in her eyes. "Commander Tucker... he's dead, isn't he?"

The Captain was silent for a moment. Ah'Len's question stirred emotions in him that were difficult to keep under control. He'd come so close to losing his friend, and the memories of Trip on the brink of death still returned to haunt him, especially at times like these.

"No," he said finally. "He's not dead."

Ah'Len's eyes widened fractionally. "He's... he's not dead?" The Xyrillian woman briefly closed her eyes, and when she looked back at him, some of the tension had disappeared from her features. "And the child..."

"She has survived as well." Archer didn't wait for Ah'Len's reaction to the news, and continued, "Ah'Len, why don't you and your partner come to my ship so we can discuss this with all concerned parties present. I'm afraid we don't have any decompression facilities..."

"That's no problem," Ah'Len said, suddenly all business. "My ship has a decompression chamber in its docking area. It will probably take about an hour until we can come aboard, Captain."

Archer nodded his agreement. "One hour. I'll meet you at the airlock." He gestured for Hoshi to cut the connection. "Archer out."

The stars reappeared where Ah'Len's face had been. No one spoke, but Archer felt all eyes resting on him.

"Well," he said, "I'm going down to sickbay. T'Pol..."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Captain?"

"Meet me at the airlock in one hour."

"Aye, sir."

XXX

Archer was aware of T'Pol's eyes on him as he took his position next to the airlock. Even though she claimed to be unfamiliar with emotions, she seemed able to detect his every mood, reacting to it in her own, subtle way. Like right now, as she squared her shoulders and stepped a little closer, her face a portrait in Vulcan self-control.

"Captain," she said. "I am certain you made the right decision, inviting them here."

Archer nodded, silently acknowledging her encouragement. He wasn't so sure he was doing the right thing. It felt wrong, receiving the Xyrillians as if they were alien diplomats on a first contact mission, as if they hadn't kicked Archer and his team out the door only two months ago.

Trip had taken the news of Ah'Len's arrival rather calmly. Too calmly for Archer's liking. He knew that Trip, usually impulsive and outgoing, switched to stony mode when he was upset and didn't want anyone to know. Worried by his friend's rigid countenance, Archer had suggested that Trip didn't come to the airlock, but wait in the conference room where staff meetings usually were held. One hell of a staff meeting, Archer thought. Trip had agreed without objection, not asking what exactly they were going to discuss. Not, Archer mused, that he would have been able to give him an answer.

The panel next to the airlock lit up, indicating that the docking process was complete. Straightening his posture, Archer nodded at the crewman standing at attention next to the bulkhead. There was a soft hiss as the locking mechanism was deactivated, then the bulkhead slid aside.

Walking through the door designed for a larger people, the two Xyrillians seemed even smaller, almost delicate. Ah'Len was still wearing the flowing bronze robe, her expression tense as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. A few steps behind her followed a Xyrillian man, slightly taller than her and clad in a similar robe, only that his gown lacked the soft smoothness of her clothing. The bony ridges on his head were more prominent than with most Xyrillians Archer had seen on Tr'Nal's ship, his rustcolored skin a few shades darker than Ah'Len's. He looked nervous.

"Captain Archer." Ah'Len came to a halt in front of them, her eyes briefly settling on T'Pol, then coming to rest on him. "Thank you for allowing us to come aboard."

She gestured to the Xyrillian man at her side. "This is my partner S'Raan."

Archer managed a smile, turning his palms upward in what he remembered to be the Xyrillian gesture of welcome. "Pleased to meet you."

S'Raan returned the gesture. "I am pleased to meet you, too, Captain," he said in a quiet, somewhat husky voice.

"This is Subcommander T'Pol."

Both Xyrillians greeted the Vulcan with upturned palms, and T'Pol mirrored their gesture, bowing her head in acknowledgement.

Archer took a deep breath. "I've asked Commander Tucker to wait in the conference room. He's still recovering, and isn't supposed to take long walk in the corridors," he added for means of explanation. No need for them to know that he'd also wanted to spare Trip the embarrassment of meeting the Xyrillians in such a public place.

"Please, follow me."

Archer noted that both Ah'Len and her partner seemed a little disoriented walking down the corridor towards the turbolift, blinking and shaking their heads as if to rid themselves of a dizzy spell.

"If the conditions on our ship cause you discomfort, maybe you should lie down for a while," T'Pol stated, but Ah'Len held up a hand.

"Thank you, Subcommander, but that will not be necessary."

Neither of the Xyrillians said a word after that, and Archer didn't really feel inclined to make polite conversation. S'Raan's gaze wandered across the bulkheads and panels, and later in the turbolift he stared at the ceiling lamps with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. The man seemed truly intrigued by his surroundings, and Archer supposed that he had never been on an alien ship before. If it had been only S'Raan, the Captain would have been happy to offer a tour around the ship, but Ah'Len's presence seemed to forbid any amicable approach. Her face was a stony mask, and she obviously felt so uncomfortable that any attempt at hospitality seemed uncalled-for to Archer.

Outside the conference room T'Pol came to a halt, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Captain, I do not think my presence is required at this meeting," she said. "You will not need any scientific information, and I have no wish to intrude into the Commander's privacy by attending."

Archer nodded. "As you wish, Subcommander."

T'Pol bowed her head in the Xyrillians' direction, but the Captain noticed that her eyes lacked all warmth as they settled on Ah'Len. Being a perfect diplomat, T'Pol treated the Xyrillian woman with the same neutral politeness she always displayed in the presence of strangers, but Archer knew her well enough to see through the facade of control. T'Pol was genuinely angry at Ah'Len.

Archer turned to the Xyrillians, his hand hovering over the opening mechanism of the door. "Commander Tucker asked me to be present," he said. "I hope you don't object."

"We don't," Ah'Len said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Archer opened the door, and gestured for the Xyrillians to enter first.

Trip sat with his back to them, but got up immediately when the door opened. Archer noticed that the engineer was back in uniform, and raised his eyebrows, but made no comment.

"Commander." For the first time since she'd come aboard, Ah'Len sounded less than calm and controlled. Trip nodded a mute greeting, and Archer saw the muscles in his jaw work.

"Trip, this is S'Raan, Ah'Len's partner."

"Hi." Trip's eyes shifted to S'Raan who seemed to feel uncomfortable, but held the other man's gaze. Then he looked back at Ah'Len. "Your partner?" he asked quietly, no particular expression on his face. Ah'Len straightened her back.

"Yes," she said. "We've been bonded for five years."

Silence followed. Archer let out the air he'd been holding, deciding that an attempt at diplomacy was in order. "Why don't we all take a seat, that'll be more comfortable than standing around here," he suggested, wincing inwardly at the false heartiness of his tone. He knew that sitting down wouldn't help to make this more comfortable in any way.

Trip sat down on his former chair, and after a moment's hesitation, Ah'Len and her partner took seats on the opposite side of the small conference table. As he sat down next to his friend, Archer noticed that Trip didn't look very well. His face was pale, and there were dark areas under his eyes, showing clearly that the engineer was far from recovered.

Again a moment of silence followed. Ah'Len studied Trip as if she expected him to say something, but as he kept silent she decided to begin.

"Commander, I know it changes nothing about what happened, but... I want to apologize for my actions aboard Tr'Nal's ship. For lying about what happened between us in the holographic chamber, and for... not being honest about the ritual in the first place. It is no excuse, but I had no idea that it could happen with someone from another species. I cannot say how much I regret that it came to this."

Trip didn't answer immediately, staring down at his hands. After a while he raised his head.

"Why did you come back? Just to tell me how sorry you are?"

Ah'Len exchanged a brief glance with S'Raan. "I already told your captain that the search took us longer than we had expected. We hoped to find you still in time for your doctor to transfer the fetus to S'Raan's body."

"Transfer the fetus?" Trip looked at S'Raan. "I thought your people considered the procedure unethical."

"Many of them do," the Xyrillian man said in his slightly hoarse voice. "But the circumstances were different. You're not a Xyrillian and so our ethics do not apply in this case."

The statement surprised Archer. Tr'Nal and his crewmates had refused to make the slightest concession in this regard, but obviously S'Raan, at least, thought different. Trip seemed surprised as well.

"You were willin' to have the fetus transferred to your body, even though it wasn't your child?"

S'Raan was very serious as he answered. "Ah'Len is my partner. Of course I was willing."

There seemed nothing to add, and Archer fought the urge to intervene, say something to ease the tension that was still hanging over the room. He knew that this time he had to let Trip do the talking.

"Alright," Trip said. "So you're tellin' me you've left your ship to find me and have the baby transferred. What I don't really understand, though, is why you lied in the first place. When Captain Tr'Nal asked you about the holo chamber, why didn't you tell him the truth about what happened?"

He looked at Ah'Len who was visibly forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"It... isn't easy for me to explain," she said. "Tr'Nal told you that the Xyrillian society is very strict about... these things. If I had admitted that I never told you about... about the ritual, I'd have most likely lost my commanding degree, and maybe they'd have expelled me from the fleet altogether. What's even more... Tr'Nal trusts me. Well, he did anyway. I couldn't bring myself to disappoint that trust so badly." She paused, closing her eyes. "I know how that must sound to you. And I can't tell you why I lied to you in the holographic chamber. Maybe... maybe I was afraid you'd say no. I don't know. All I can say is that I've never regretted anything more in my life."

"And that's why you came back?" Trip asked quietly.

Ah'Len was silent for a moment. "For a while I tried to put it all behind me, push it out of my mind, but it didn't work. I realized I couldn't go on like that. I had dishonored you and betrayed my partner, and I couldn't forget about it like it never happened." Archer noticed that S'Raan was studying his hands, carefully avoiding to meet anyone's eyes. "I quit the service," Ah'Len continued, "and told Tr'Nal that I had to go back to Thera."

"Did you tell him the truth about what happened?" Archer asked before he could stop himself. Ah'Len lowered her eyes.

"No," she said very quietly, but no one had trouble understanding her. "I... I couldn't. Maybe he suspected something, but he never said a word. He didn't ask why I had to leave. Some people in the fleet still owe me a favor, so I was able to get this ship." She looked up again, meeting Trip's eyes. Archer had the impression that her distress was genuine, not only play-acting in order to get the absolution she seemed to need so badly. But then, he couldn't be sure of that. Ah'Len had proved before that she was quite good at acting.

"Commander, I am so sorry that we didn't make it in time. You could have died, and-"

"She could have died," Trip interrupted, his voice tense. "The child. Ever thought of that? If anythin' had gone wrong, our doctor wouldn't have been able to help her."

Ah'Len stared at him. It was obvious that Trip's word came as a surprise to her.

"Commander," she began, " we tried to find you in time, but-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Trip said, and Archer noticed that he had interrupted her yet again, something he wouldn't normally do. "I still don't understand why you lied to me and later to Tr'Nal, and I don't care, either. What I do care about, though, is that you could've killed her, and you didn't care about it any more than you cared about what happened to me." He paused. "I'm askin' you again - why did you come back?"

"To apologize," Ah'Len said quietly, not missing a beat even though Trip's words had visibly shaken her up. "And I came back for my child. I know you don't believe me, but I do care what happens to her."

"You've got a funny way of showin' it," Trip said, and beneath his flippant tone Archer sensed anger and hurt. Trip had been holding it inside, had never talked about the Xyrillians to anyone, but it was obvious that the humiliating scene back on Tr'Nal's ship was still very present in his mind. "If you cared about what happened to her, why didn't you even try to come to my help?"

"I told you, I couldn't," Ah'Len replied, her former calm tone wavering. "And Dr. K'Ron would never agree to transfer a fetus, no matter what circumstances. There was nothing I could do!"

"Well, you didn't even try, did you?" Trip's pale cheeks were flushing with anger, and he spoke fast, like someone voicing feelings that have been on his mind for too long. "You just stood by and watched when that captain of yours treated me like some kinda criminal, and you let them kick us out without ever sayin' a word. You said Tr'Nal trusted you. He'd have believed you if you had told him the truth."

"What good would that have been?" Ah'Len sounded frustrated. "You saw what they're like! They-"

"What good?" Trip let out a small, humorless laugh. "You didn't even try to talk to them. They'd've listened to you! Maybe your doctor could've given Phlox the information he needed to transfer the child. But that's the point - you didn't even try!"

Trip had raised his voice, and Archer forced himself not to intervene in any way. He wanted to lay a hand on Trip's arm, do something to make this easier for him, but at the same time knew that these things needed to be said.

Ah'Len sat very straight, her chin raised. "Commander, whether you like it or not, you'll have to face the fact that this child is my responsibility as well. I can only say that I'm sorry for what has happened, and hope you'll accept my apology. I fully understand if you refuse to do so. But still, I'm not going to turn my back on you and leave. We will have to decide what to do about the child, and I will have to take part in that decision."

"I see." Trip got up, and for a moment Archer believed he was going to walk out, but then the engineer turned around again. His hands were shaking, and he closed his fingers around the back rest of his abandoned chair, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white. "It's so damn easy for you, isn't it? You mess around with some guy just because he doesn't happen to know about you matin' rituals, and then you lie your captain straight in the face, because you feel you can't betray his trust!" At these last words, Trip was practically sneering. "And then you suddenly decide you're responsible, after all. You come back and act like I ought to be grateful that you've changed your mind, like all you have to do is say your sorry and everythin' will be alright. You know what? I don't care a shit if you're sorry. All I know is that you never said a word even though you knew the child could die if it wasn't transferred. So don't give me that bullshit about feelin' responsible and decidin' what to do next. You don't care about her, you're just worried you'll lose your face completely if you don't try to settle things, or whatever it is that you're here for. What were you plannin' to do, anyway? Pay me so I don't tell anyone it's your child?"

He let out a short, angry laugh, and Archer saw that Trip was fighting hard to keep control of his emotions. The engineer took a deep breath, and continued in a calmer tone. "Look, I don't think there's much use in talkin'. I'll accept your apology if that'll make you feel better, but there's no way you're tellin' me what to do. No way. Get that?"

Trip didn't wait for an answer, turned abruptly and left, so quickly that the doors had slid shut behind him before Archer had even opened his mouth to call him back. Ah'Len was still perched stiffly on her chair, her face not giving away any emotions. S'Raan, on the other hand, didn't seem quite as calm, making as if to go after Trip, but Ah'Len put a hand on his arm.

"Don't. I don't think it would be a very good idea right now." Her voice was strained, and Archer saw that it cost her a lot to keep her cool countenance.

The Captain was torn. He understood why Trip had reacted so vehemently, but the realistic part of his mind told him that the situation had to be redeemed, and quickly so. As much as he sympathized with Trip - in his place he'd probably have reacted just the same - he knew that Ah'Len was at least partly right: They had to come to a decision, and this decision would have to include the Xyrillians, as well. If he left now to go after Trip, diplomatic relations might very well be damaged beyond repair.

Keeping this in mind, Archer forced himself to stay put. "Ah'Len, maybe we can continue this discussion at another time. You are, of course, very welcome to our guest quarters if you'd like to spend the night aboard."

Ah'Len rose from her chair. "Thank you, Captain, but that will not be necessary. We will return to our ship. I'd appreciate it, however, if you gave your permission for us to come back later. Maybe Commander Tucker just needs some time to think this over, and we can talk again tomorrow."

Archer didn't like her slightly condescending tone, but said nothing. "Of course."

"Wait a minute," S'Raan interrupted, and Ah'Len turned to face her partner.

"Is there a problem?"

S'Raan looked first at her, then at Archer. "I don't think he'll be more willing to listen to us in the morning. And he has a point. I understand why he left earlier."

Ah'Len frowned. "S'Raan," she began, but her partner cut her off.

"I'm going to talk to him," he said. "Now."

He got up, but before he had reached the door Ah'Len caught up with him, taking his arm.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she said, throwing a quick glance at Archer who politely averted his eyes. "You'll only make things worse. And besides, why should he listen to you any more than he listened to me?"

"He has no reason not to," S'Raan replied quietly, and from the corner of his eye Archer saw Ah'Len let go of her partner's arm, stepping back as if he had pushed her. S'Raan held her gaze for a moment, then resumed his way to the door. This time she didn't try to hold him back, watching with barely concealed hurt on her face as he left.

Archer sighed. These people certainly did nothing to make things easier.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Vanishingp2000, Luna, Ocean, Gabi, Exploded Pen, Ragua, Emiliana Keladry, The Libran Iniquity, lorien829, Rinne and Maraschino for reviewing!

Enjoy Chapter 15... and please r&r!

-----------------------------

Chapter 15

Trip walked down the corridor, his face burning. His hands were still shaking, and he fought the urge to bring his fist down hard on the wall paneling, embracing the pain as a welcome distraction from his feelings of rage and shame.

He still couldn't quite believe that he'd lost his temper like that. On entering the conference room, he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't allow himself to be provoked, would keep a grip on himself no matter what she said, and here he was, storming off like a sulking teenager.

Trip had no idea where his sudden outburst had come from. Maybe it was the way Ah'Len dealt with the situation, staying cool and controlled and at the same time treating him like a small child who wouldn't listen to reason. In a way, it had reminded him of the degrading scene back on the Xyrillian ship, and his shame and humiliation had come back full force, sweeping aside his resolutions not to let his emotions show in front of the Xyrillians.

And he'd made such a mess of it. Right now Jon was probably employing all his diplomatic skills to save the situation, once again covering for his Chief Engineer's inability to think before speaking.

Trip slammed his hand down on the turbolift panel, hard enough to make himself wince. Why did she have to come back? What gave her the right to come aboard and demand to talk to him, like she was the one who had a score to settle?

Once inside the lift, Trip leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His legs ached like he'd just come back from a ten-mile run in the snow, and despite his thick pullover he was shivering. Phlox had warned him that staying up for too long was likely to make him feel that way, but there was no way Trip would be able to calm down enough to rest. The only reason he was headed for sickbay was that he needed a place to go, away from the prying eyes of his crewmates.

The turbolift came to a halt, and Trip pushed himself away from the wall, which proved more difficult than it ought to. His joints ached badly, and the short way to sickbay seemed a mile to him. He stopped briefly before pushing the door button, waiting to get his breath back. Trip knew that right now he wouldn't be able to stand through another one of the doctor's lectures.

Phlox, who'd agreed to move his experiments to sickbay when Archer had requested Trip's presence in the conference room, looked up from the counter as Trip entered.

"Back already, Commander?"

Trip nodded, hoping the doc wouldn't ask any further questions. "Thanks for lookin' after her, doc."

"You look exhausted, Commander." Phlox abandoned his test tubes and picked up a hand scanner. "Please sit down on one of the biobeds so I-"

"Doc." Trip held up a hand, only wishing Phlox would leave him alone. "Not right now, okay? Please."

The doctor hesitated, then lowered the scanner again. He studied him for a moment, and Trip could see the concern and worry in his eyes.

"I take it the, ah, meeting didn't go well?" he asked quietly, and Trip shook his head. To his relief, Phlox didn't press him for details, but simply laid his scanner aside, sitting back down in front of the counter.

"Maybe it would be a good idea to try and get some rest, Commander," he said. "You've had a busy day, and I can imagine that you are tired. You know where to find me when you need something."

"Thanks, doc."

Phlox smiled, and Trip went to the door at the back of the room, grateful for the doctor's understanding. At the moment all he wanted was a place where he could be alone.

Well, not entirely alone, of course. Quietly slipping into the room, Trip listened for Arh'Leen's breathing, and to his relief found that she was fast asleep. He had no wish to wake her, and made his way to the bed very carefully, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. His body was still aching, but despite an overall weariness Trip didn't lie down. The dimmed lights and quiet atmosphere of the room had a calming effect on the turmoil in his mind, and that was exactly what he needed right now. Calming down.

Trip's eyes fell on something on his nightstand, and he picked it up, smiling a little as he turned it over in his hands. It was Michael Rostov's teddy bear, the one the young crewman had donated for the crew's collection of "baby stuff". Malcolm had brought it yesterday together with the horror movies Trip had asked for, blushing slightly as he handed it over to Trip.

"I thought maybe she'd like it," he'd said, turning even redder, and Trip had found that he was right. Arh'Leen, who seemed to need physical contact like a human needed air to breathe, had taken an immediate liking to the stuffed animal's soft fur.

His fingers absentmindedly stroking the soft material, Trip felt the tension gradually ease from his body. Now that he had time to think, his anger seemed to vanish and remembering the scene he had caused, Trip felt his cheeks grow hot again. By shouting at Ah'Len and stomping out of the room he had only confirmed her perception of him as someone who lacked the self-control and rationality to think for himself. He'd meant every word he'd said, but losing control like that had put him on the defensive, allowing her to prove her superiority by reacting coolly to his anger. Trip doubted that she'd really listened to what he'd said. And probably she wouldn't have cared, anyway.

Arh'Leen gave a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and Trip looked over at the cot where the baby lay sleeping. It was strange how fast he'd become used to keeping part of his mind constantly tuned for any noise from her, ready to let everything else go when she was crying or whining. Jon had teased him about becoming an overprotective parent, and even though Trip had only grinned and waved him off, he knew that the Captain's joke was closer to the truth than he cared to admit. He did feel he had to protect Arh'Leen, see to it that she wasn't harmed, no matter what. And maybe part of his anger had been due to this protective instinct, or whatever you wanted to call it. No one was going to tell him what to do, or what was best for Arh'Leen. And Ah'Len least of all.

Trip heard voices talking outside the door, and looked up. He recognized the doctor's voice and another one, becoming more distinct as they approached the door.

Trip sighed. He'd hoped against hope that Jon wouldn't come after him, but of course the Captain's first and foremost concern had to be diplomatic relations. He couldn't just allow his Chief Engineer to walk out on a meeting with members of an alien species, no matter what circumstances.

As the door opened, Trip braced himself for what was to come. He was prepared to take whatever the Captain had to say, but there was no way he was going back to the conference room.

The person entering the room, however, was not the grave-looking Captain Trip had been expecting. It was S'Raan. Completely taken by surprise, Trip got up.

"Commander?" the Xyrillian asked carefully, his hand lingering on the doorframe as though he was afraid to venture further into the room. "May I come in? Your captain told me I'd find you here."

"Um... sure." Not sure what to make of this, Trip didn't really know what to say. The door closed behind S'Raan, and the Xyrillian stood rather nervously in the middle of the room, taking a quick look around. Then his eyes fell on the cot next to the wall.

"Is this..." He swallowed, and Trip nodded, surprising himself by smiling at the other man.

"Yes, that's Arh'Leen."

S'Raan didn't take his eyes off the small bed, his nervousness momentarily forgotten. "May I?"

In a way, his timid demeanor reminded Trip of one Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and despite himself, he felt slightly amused.

"Take a look at her? Sure."

S'Raan approached the cot and crouched down in front of it. Silence ensued as they both regarded the sleeping baby. Arh'Leen's arms and legs had grown rounder during the last five days, and her bronze scales had somewhat darkened in color, giving her skin a shiny brown appearance. Trip threw S'Raan a look from the corner of his eye. The man's features had softened, all nervous tension gone, and his eyes filled with warmth as they rested on the sleeping child.

"How old is she?" he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the baby.

"Five days," Trip replied, feeling strangely touched by the way the Xyrillian reacted to the child. S'Raan seemed to have waited for this for a very long time.

"I am sorry, Commander," the Xyrillian said quietly, breaking into Trip's thoughts. "Ah'Len told me about... about the differences between your species and mine." He met Trips eyes. "You must have suffered terribly."

Trip shrugged, embarrassed at the open sympathy in S'Raan's voice. "It wasn't that bad. I was unconscious when things got really nasty, and the rest of the time was okay."

Describing an alien pregnancy as "okay" was ridiculous, and Trip knew it, but what was he supposed to say? It wasn't S'Raan's fault he'd almost starved to death, or that he'd spent weeks in a coma due to the metabolic shock he had suffered. It _had_ been a hard time alright, but it was over now. And Trip wasn't going to hold the wrong people responsible.

"Look," he said, feeling he had to make himself clear on that, "no matter what I said to Ah'Len, I don't blame you for any of this. I appreciate that you were willin' to help me, despite cultural ethics and all that. I know it must've been a hard decision to make."

S'Raan straightened up again, his eyes still fixed on the cot. "It was... at first. You know, when Ah'Len told me about what happened, it came like a shock to me. We hadn't seen each other for quite some time, with her being away on that mission and all, but still, I'd thought..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but Trip understood. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," S'Raan said at once. "Ah'Len told me what happened. She neglected to tell you the truth, and you had no way of knowing about the ritual." He looked at Trip. "She is truly sorry. Ah'Len finds it hard to admit that she has made a mistake, but she was telling the truth when she said that she regrets what she has done." He paused. "I'm sure she would be willing to talk to your partner, tell her that it wasn't your fault."

Trip stared at him. "My partner?"

"The Subcommander." S'Raan hesitated. "She seemed rather... displeased when we met her at the airlock. I assume your relationship has suffered somewhat after this, but-"

Trip interrupted, biting his lip not to laugh. "T'Pol's not my partner, S'Raan. And she wasn't displeased, she was just controllin' her emotions. She's a Vulcan," he added, then realized that this wouldn't make S'Raan any the wiser if he had never met a member of that species before. "They suppress their emotions," he tried to explain. "That's why they sometimes come across as somewhat... reserved." To put it mildly.

S'Raan seemed surprised. "Then... you don't have a partner?"

"No." Trip shook his head, still digesting the idea of him and T'Pol being "partners". It was certainly... confusing.

"Commander..." S'Raan's voice brought him back to the present. "I... I need to talk to you."

Again, the Xyrillian seemed rather nervous, and Trip gestured at the chair next to his bed.

"Why don't you sit down," he suggested. Hesitatingly, S'Raan complied, and Trip sat back down on the edge of the bed. "What do you want to talk about?"

The Xyrillian man looked down at his hands, and Trip had the impression that he was gathering his thoughts, mustering up the courage for what he was going to say.

"You know," S'Raan began after a while, "after Ah'Len had left her ship and come back to Thera, we had... an argument. I was angry, of course, but what was even more, I couldn't understand why she hadn't tried to talk to them. It's like you said - the child could have died, and she did nothing to prevent it." He took a deep breath, and raised his eyes. "I want to be perfectly honest with you, Commander. At the time, I wasn't so much worried about you. All I could think of was what was going to happen to the child. And I couldn't believe that she had simply left it behind." He paused. "I had wanted a child for years, but with Ah'Len being away most of the time we never really had the time to talk about it. When she first told me about you, I was just so... disappointed."

It was clearly not easy for him to talk about this, and Trip didn't really know what to say in response. "I understand," he offered quietly, and S'Raan continued.

"I had almost decided to end our partnership when Ah'Len told me she had called the fleet and asked for a ship. She... she asked me to accompany her, to have the baby transferred, after all. Some friend of hers, a doctor, had given her the necessary medical information, and all it took was my decision to let the child be transplanted to my body." He sighed. "I agreed. I was afraid of the journey - I'd never been off-planet before - but at the time I had no doubt that we were going to make it. And I felt responsible for my child."

"Technically, she isn't your child," Trip said, a little sharper than he had intended to. "The father's genes are not passed on to the next generation."

"She is my child," S'Raan stated simply. If he had taken offense at Trip's remark, then he didn't let it show. "Ah'Len and I are bonded. It is my responsibility to care for and protect her children." He didn't wait for Trip to reply, and continued. "During all those weeks we were looking for you, Ah'Len and I had a lot of time to talk. She told me how she had felt after Tr'Nal had told you to leave, and that she would never be able to forgive herself if you or the child died. When we realized that we were running short of time, she became desperate. I had never seen her like that before. She hardly talked to me anymore, and scanned all day for a trace of your ship. When we finally picked up your ion trace at that nebula, we both knew that it was too late. Still, we felt we couldn't... leave our child behind."

S'Raan met his gaze, and Trip knew what he was going to say. He had known all along. A hard lump of pain formed in his chest, and more than anything else he wanted to leave, walk out of the room so he wouldn't have to listen to what S'Raan was going to ask of him. But he couldn't run away again.

"Commander," the Xyrillian began quietly, "please believe me, we tried everything we could. If we had found you in time, I would have been more than happy to be the host for this child. As it is, we're simply glad that you have survived. And that she has survived. I can only begin to imagine what you've been through, and I understand that you're angry. In your place, I'd be furious. Still..." He took a deep breath. "Ah'Len and I are Arh'Leen's parents. And we do care about her. Very much so."

A moment of silence followed. "You want to take her with you when you go back to Thera," Trip said finally, swallowing hard to get rid of the dry feeling in his throat. It was a statement, not a question, and S'Raan lowered his eyes in response.

"Yes," he said quietly. "We do."

Trip sat motionless for a few seconds, then got up. He couldn't face S'Raan now, and neither could he give an answer to his question. Walking over to Arh'Leen's cot, he felt S'Raan's eyes on him, but ignored him. As he looked down at the sleeping child, the lump in his chest grew harder. Part of him wanted to tell the Xyrillian to go to hell, that there was no way they were taking her away. But he said nothing. Walking out on Ah'Len had given him a short reprieve; he'd never given her the chance to ask the very question he didn't want to hear. Now, however, with S'Raan asking in that quiet, apologizing way, he couldn't just start yelling at him, or refuse to talk to him. With Ah'Len, it had been the easy way out, but now Trip knew it wouldn't work anymore.

After a few minutes S'Raan quietly got up, but Trip didn't turn around. The Xyrillian offered a quiet goodbye before the door closed behind him, and Trip nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes still on Arh'Leen. Strangely enough, the baby hadn't woken up at the sound of their voices, and was still sleeping peacefully, her small brown hands resting on her chest. She didn't even stir at the soft hiss of the door sliding shut.

Even after S'Raan was gone, Trip didn't move. He stared down at the baby, and suddenly found himself wishing fervently the Xyrillians had never come back at all. Not _now_. How they simply turned up in a borrowed ship, offered their apologies and said they were going to take home their child with them - it didn't seem fair. In fact, it made him furious. He wasn't some kind of... of surrogate mother, goddammit, and hadn't endured all the pain and embarrassment only so Ah'Len could complete her domestic idyll in the end.

And he couldn't even blame them. Maybe that was the worst of all. Ah'Len had made a mistake, but she regretted it, and had done everything in her power to find him still in time. Too bad it hadn't worked out, but no real harm done, he and the child were still alive, after all. So what was he worrying about? In the end, everything had turned out alright, hadn't it?

Trip rested his hands on the cot's rim and closed his eyes. Cynicism helped him vent his frustration, but it wouldn't get him anywhere. He had to think of Arh'Leen, and there was no time for him to give in to his anger and self-pity, use it to push everything else out of his mind.

Strange, that he would feel that strongly about it. One should think he would be glad, being able to return the child to her own people, after all. She wasn't his child, and as he had told the Captain so many weeks ago, he hadn't signed on for this mission to end up as a working mother. So why wasn't he happy and relieved, now that he was offered the opportunity to get his old life back, and at the same time do what was no doubt best for Arh'Leen? Why was he feeling as though someone was trying to take an important part of his life away?

Opening his eyes again, Trip looked at the sleeping child. He took in every part of her appearance, the scales, the bony ridges on her forehead, and the strange, shiny bronze of her skin. No, she didn't belong here, and he was fooling himself, thinking that he could ever make her feel at home. On this ship, maybe; with a small group of people who were used to encountering new lifeforms and strange cultures with an open mind, who wouldn't reject her because of her alien appearance. But not on Earth, and certainly not in a small, closed human community such as, for example, his own hometown. Trip wasn't even sure if his own family would accept her.

It wasn't like he hadn't thought of all this before. But then it had been a given fact he had to deal with, something that gave him sleepless nights but couldn't be changed. Now it was different. Now he had a choice, had to make the decision Ah'Len had forced upon him by coming back. And he felt a helpless, irrational anger at her for putting him in this position.

Arh'Leen sighed in her sleep, and Trip reached into the cot, gently running his fingers across her cheek. It tingled faintly, and the baby quieted down at the touch. Trip continued to stroke her face, and felt his heart grow heavy as he watched her sleep. He had no idea what he was going to do.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to plumtuckered, Exploded Pen, Gabi, Luna, JM9, Rinne, vlm, Emiliana Keladry, The Libran Iniquity, Ocean, Maraschino, WhtevrHpnd2Mary and Phaser Lady for reviewing!

Hope you enjoy Chapter 16... please r&r!

-----------------------------

Chapter 16

The next day, Trip was waiting at the airlock alone. Jon, of course, had offered to accompany him, but Trip realized that the Captain's presence would only make it harder for him to say what needed to be said. He declined, and Jon seemed to understand.

When Ah'Len stepped through the airlock, Trip saw that she, too, had chosen to come unaccompanied. Well, maybe that was just as well. What he had to say concerned S'Raan as well, but he could still talk to the other man. Now, however, he needed Ah'Len to listen closely to what he wanted to tell her, and not hide herself behind a mask of formality and all too clearly displayed regret. And maybe with no spectators present they would be able to talk rationally, on equal terms, without assuming the roles of either victim or culprit. At least he hoped so.

The airlock hissed shut, and Ah'Len drew herself up a little straighter, facing him and turning her palms upward.

"Good morning, Commander," she said. If she thought the Captain's absence to be unusual, she didn't let it show. Trip mirrored her gesture, careful to keep his voice and expression neutral as he spoke.

"Good mornin'. I'm glad you could make it." He gestured at the corridor. "I thought maybe we could go an' talk in my quarters. That'll be a little more comfortable than the conference room." Not to speak of the changed environment, which might also have an effect on the atmosphere of their conversation.

Ah'Len bowed her head in acknowledgement, following him as he started down the corridor. Her demeanor seemed a little more subdued than yesterday, but maybe it was the fact that he himself was feeling a lot calmer today. He didn't feel the need to appear cool or reserved, or show her in any other way what he thought of her actions. That had been yesterday. Today he had a job to do, and make sure he did it right. Make sure she listened to him, and understood what he had to tell her.

Ah'Len kept silent all the way to his quarters, but Trip realized she wasn't being arrogant or snubbing him by her silence. Maybe she was even feeling a little nervous, if her body language was any indication. He didn't try to initiate any conversation, feeling no need to exchange meaningless small talk with this woman.

When they had arrived at his quarters, he palmed the door panel to open the bulkhead, gesturing for her to enter first. She stepped into the room almost tentatively, as if she felt she was trespassing. Trip followed, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Please, sit down."

Ah'Len, whose eyes had been resting on the two cardboard boxes that stood against the wall next to the window, started slightly, and hesitated briefly before taking a seat. Trip sat down on his bunk, taking a deep breath before he began to talk.

"Well, as I said, I'm glad you could make it." He paused, wishing she'd relax a little instead of sitting ramrod straight on the very edge of her chair. Witnessing her obvious discomfort didn't make things easier for him. "I think we need to talk."

Ah'Len watched him, an inscrutable expression in her eyes. "I agree."

Now she sounded almost like T'Pol. God, why did this have to so hard? Trip cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry our... meetin' yesterday was such a disaster. Not that I didn't mean what I said, but I shouldn't have walked out on you."

He hadn't expected it, but she actually relaxed a little at that. "And I shouldn't have treated you in what was obviously perceived as a condescending manner. I'm sorry."

Trip certainly hadn't expected that. "It's okay," he said, still somewhat surprised at her apology. "I know now that you didn't mean to snub me."

"It was the last thing I had in mind," Ah'Len said. "I only felt it important to make you understand. Maybe I concentrated too hard on that. Maybe I should have listened to what you had to say instead."

"Maybe," Trip agreed, feeling no need to disagree out of politeness. Maybe this wasn't going to be so hard, after all. At least she was willing to listen to him. "Look, Ah'Len..." He hesitated. "I'm sure S'Raan told you about our discussion in sickbay after the meetin'." She acknowledged silently, and he continued. "I've been thinkin' 'bout what he said. Actually, I've been thinkin' 'bout it all night." He took a deep breath. The next part was going to be so hard. "S'Raan said you want to take Arh'Leen with you when you go back home."

She met his eyes evenly. "We would be more than happy to do so. But the decision is up to you."

Another surprise. He hadn't expected her to actually say that. And at the same time it made things even harder for him. If he said no, they wouldn't object. They wouldn't fight. They would simply go and never come back, just as they had done before.

Trip forced himself to continue, stop his train of thought before it took him somewhere he didn't want to go.

"It... wasn't easy for me to come to a decision. I mean..." How was he supposed to explain this? "These last weeks have been a rather weird experience. To put it mildly. You know human males don't usually get pregnant, and I'm not gonna lie to you and say it was easy. At first... at first I even considered havin' the child removed."

He expected her to react with shock and even anger, but she didn't. "I'm glad you decided against it," she said quietly, and Trip realized that, unlike her crewmates, Ah'Len didn't think removing a fetus was a crime beyond the range of imagination. If one was desperate enough, that was.

He continued. "Well, I guess you know the rest. When the doc told me that he had to remove her, after all, I told him no. I had no idea how it happened, but at some point I had decided that savin' her life was more important than savin' mine. Sounds rather heroic when you put it that way, but it didn't feel like that to me. At the time, it seemed the perfectly natural thing to do." He let out a small laugh.

"It is natural for men to feel protective of their unborn children," Ah'Len said. "There are also certain hormones that enforce the bond between father and child."

Trip shook his head. "I don't think you quite understand. There was nothin' "natural" 'bout the whole thing. Human men jus' don't get pregnant. It's never happened before. Dr.Phlox's been pestered for weeks by Starfleet doctors back on Earth callin' him to ask if they can have a look at the data." He didn't mention how he felt about becoming a medical miracle and no doubt the topic of countless scientific dissertations. "But that's not the point. The point is that I care about Arh'Leen. I don't want anythin' to happen to her, and I don't want to leave her."

"I see." Ah'Len tried to sound neutral, but failed miserably. She made as if to get up, but Trip held up a hand.

"Wait. Let me finish. As I said, I've been thinkin' 'bout it all night long, and eventually I realized that this isn't so much about what I want. It's about what's best for Arh'Leen." He swallowed, hard. "An' I think it's best for her to go with you. You're her people, an' she won't be an outsider on your world. She'll... she'll be able to live a normal life, without havin' to deal with people's prejudices every single day of her existence. I think she'll be happier that way."

Ah'Len sat perfectly still, her eyes very bright as she spoke. "So you're giving your consent?"

Trip nodded slowly. "Yes. But on one condition." She waited, and Trip raised his head, looking her straight in the eyes. "You have to promise me that you'll take good care of her. An' that means really care. I have no doubt S'Raan will do exactly that, but I want you to be there for her as well. Even if that means givin' up your job in the fleet permanently."

"I have already done that," Ah'Len said calmly. "And I have no intention of going back into space. It doesn't seem the ideal work place for me."

She didn't smile when she said it, but Trip sensed the dry irony behind her words. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

"Maybe not. Anyway, I'm glad you say so." He paused. "I want to be perfectly honest with you. If it wasn't for S'Raan, I don't know if I'd be willin' to give her to you. You left her one time, and how do I now you're not goin' to do it again?"

Ah'Len seemed hurt by his words, but she gave no sharp reply. "I...I understand. But you have my word, Commander, that I'll do everything in my power to care for, and protect her. I won't leave her again."

"I hope so." And he did. He hoped with all his heart that Ah'Len really meant what she'd said. The Xyrillian woman got up.

"Commander," she said, "I want to thank you for taking the time to talk to me. I can't tell you how much your decision means to us. And... I know it won't change anything, but I am sorry. I know how you must feel."

Trip nodded silently, and watched her leave, the door of his quarters sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. No, he thought. You don't know a damn thing about how I feel.

XXX

Time went by very fast after that. In a way, Trip welcomed the rush; it didn't give him time to concentrate on any feelings which might have threatened to surface otherwise. With Phlox' help, he packed Arh'Leen's things into two big bags, adding the crew's collection of baby stuff. Hess and the others had stubbornly refused to take their gifts back, and seeing the hopeful expression on S'Raan's face at the sight of all those toys, clothes and blankets, Trip decided they might as well take them with them. They were Arh'Leen's things, after all.

Phlox spent half an hour briefing S'Raan on how to adjust the baby's diet to normal Xyrillian baby food once they got back, and the Xyrillian man dutifully noted everything down, carefully tucking the padd away together with the boxes of formula Phlox had given him for the way back to Thera.

Closing the second bag's zipper, Trip took one last look around the small IC unit. Strange, that it was only six days ago that he had woken up in here, hearing Hoshi tease Malcolm about holding a baby. It seemed months ago to him.

He picked up the carrycot Phlox had prepared, and set it down on the small table next to Arh'Leen's bed. It was little more than a padded basket with handles, but S'Raan had been pleased when he saw it, saying they could use it as a bed for Arh'Leen on their way back home.

Trip paused for a moment, looking down at the baby. She was awake, as usual around this time of the day, and seemed rather frisky, waving her arms about and crowing happily. He felt a lump build in his throat at the sight. Despite all his good intentions, despite telling himself over and over again that he was doing the right thing, it still hurt. It hurt like hell. The dry feeling in his throat became almost painful, and Trip swallowed hard, forcing himself to stop right there. He wasn't going to do this to himself. He wanted to say goodbye without falling to pieces, and he sure as hell didn't want to face Ah'Len with swollen, blood-shot eyes afterwards. No way.

"Hey, Arh'Leen," he said quietly, and the baby's head turned, her strange silvery eyes coming to rest on him. As a reflex, Trip smiled, blinking hard to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. He was not going to cry. Not _now_. "Hey there."

He picked her up, feeling the warmth that radiated from her small body as he held her against his chest. She was already dressed warmly, wrapped in a blanket for the journey to the other ship, and only her face was still visible, a small brown heart-shaped spot amidst the mass of white fabric. Trip carefully ran a finger across her cheek, taking odd comfort in the familiar tingling sensation.

"You take care," he whispered, continuing to stroke her cheek. "You take care, you hear me?"

The baby became very still under his touch, as if she sensed that something strange was going on. Trip swallowed, and continued.

"It's gonna be fun, you'll see. I've seen the place, it's beautiful. You'll like it. And they're gonna take good care of you. I know they will. So there's nothin' to worry about, y'hear me? Everything's gonna be fine..."

He couldn't go on, and raised a hand to wipe away the tears he hadn't been able to hold back, after all. And the hardest thing of all was still left to do. Trip gently stroked the baby's cheek once again and planted a light kiss on her forehead. Her skin felt warm and dry, so unlike human skin, and yet so familiar. One brief moment he paused to take another look at her, feel the warm weight of her body in his arms, and then, very gently, lowered her into her carrycot.

The baby squawked in protest at the sudden lack of physical contact, and Trip reached into the cot, touching her cheek to let her know he was there.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's not for long. They'll get you out of there as soon as you're on their ship. Don't worry."

The door of the room opened, and Trip straightened up.

"Commander?" S'Raan took a few hesitant steps into the room. Meeting his eyes, Trip forced himself to smile, a brief casual smile meant to indicate that everything was perfectly fine. The Xyrillian studied him worriedly, and Trip knew there was no fooling the other man, but thankfully S'Raan did not comment on the fact that Trip had obviously been crying. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"That's okay," Trip managed to say in nearly normal tone of voice. "I've jus' finished packin' her stuff."

"Thank you." Rather nervously, S'Raan threw a glance at the carrycot. "If... if you're done, then we'd..."

"Sure." Trip went to pick up the cot, but then stopped in his tracks, hesitated, and gestured at S'Raan to take it. The Xyrillian hesitated as well, and for a second their eyes met, sharing a moment of silent communication and understanding. Then S'Raan carefully closed his fingers around the carrycot's handles, gently lifting it off the table.

Ah'Len was waiting outside, standing next to Jon. Trip noticed that both she and the Captain were watching him rather nervously, and looked away, deliberately not meeting their eyes. He couldn't bear their pity on top of everything else.

"Let me take those bags," the Captain said quietly , and Trip silently handed them over. He knew Jon wanted to help, and why not let him?

The way to the turbo lift passed in silence. Jon kept throwing him concerned glances from the corner of his eye, but he didn't try to talk to him, something for which Trip was eternally grateful. He was fighting hard enough as it was to keep the last shreds of his self-control in place, and wasn't sure he would be able to hold it back if Jon tried to comfort him now.

This was harder, a lot harder than he had thought it would be. Trip knew he wasn't good at suppressing his emotions - he would make a lousy Vulcan, and T'Pol had told him so time and again - but this was tearing him apart.

He stared straight ahead, fixing the turbo lift's gray wall paneling, and told himself to get a grip, goddammit. He wasn't going to embarrass himself and his captain yet again. No, he wasn't going to think of the fact that he wouldn't see his child ever again - and she was his child, genetics be damned. She was his child, just as much as Ah'Len's. And he was going to bid her farewell in a quiet, dignified manner, as she deserved.

The turbo lift came to a halt, and the party silently left the small cabin, Trip being the first who stepped out the door. He felt the others' glances between his shoulderblades as if they were actually touching him, but didn't turn around.

As they approached the airlock, Trip felt as though time was racing past, events passing before his eyes too quickly for him to intervene. Jon nodded at the crewman standing guard to open the lock, and the bulkhead slid aside, revealing the narrow passage behind that ended in the Xyrillians' decompression chamber. Ah'Len turned to the Captain, taking from him the two bags with Arh'Leen's things.

"Thank you.". She looked at Trip, and he drew himself up straighter, bracing himself.

"Commander..." She hesitated. "I..." Again, she trailed off, and Trip noticed with a start that her eyes were bright with tears. Of all things, he hadn't expected her to cry, and it threw him off balance enough to startle a reaction out of him.

"It's alright," Trip said, and to his surprise it came out quite steady. "It's alright, Ah'Len."

She held his gaze for another moment, then lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she said, so softly that only he was able to hear it. But Trip wasn't looking at her anymore. His attention had shifted to the cot in S'Raan's hand. Arh'Leen was still awake, but she had become very still, as though she was able to sense the tension around her. Crouching down next to her, Trip smiled, and found that he didn't even have to force it. Suddenly, he found himself feeling very calm.

"It's okay," he whispered, not caring if anyone heard him. "We won't be seein' each other for a while, but that's alright. I know you'll be just fine. There's nothin' to worry about, okay?" Her cheek felt warm under his touch, and Trip let his fingers linger on the bronze skin for a moment before pulling his hand back. "Goodbye, Arh'Leen."

Straightening up, Trip met S'Raan's eyes. Other than Ah'Len, the Xyrillian man seemed quite calm. He seemed to understand.

"Thank you, Commander," he said quietly, and Trip nodded, watching as the Captain bid the two Xyrillians farewell. Before they entered the airlock, S'Raan turned around one more time.

"I will keep in touch," he said, and his strange, bright eyes wrinkled in a smile. "You'll hear from us, Commander."

Again, Trip nodded, and watched as the bulkhead closed behind Ah'Len and her partner. It hissed as the lock sealed shut, and a moment later a green light lit up, indicating that the passage was closed.

"Dismissed, Crewman." Jon nodded at the guard who drew to attention, then quickly disappeared down the corridor.

Trip felt the Captain's hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, Trip?" Jon asked quietly, and Trip managed to nod.

"I'm fine."

He turned around, slowly, and began to make his way down the corridor.

"Trip..."

He heard Jon's concerned voice behind him, and shook his head, hoping the Captain wouldn't follow him. He didn't. Trip kept walking, still wrapped up in that strange unnatural calm, and never turned around when a faint signal from the airlock indicated that the Xyrillian ship had left.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Exploded Pen, Gabi, JM9, plumtuckered, Luna, The Libran Iniquity, Emiliana Keladry, Maraschino, Rinne, LadyDi-Star Trek, Ocean, anonymous and vlm for reviewing!

AN to Emiliana Keladry:

I'm sorry you feel that way about it. And while I do respect your opinion, I still don't think there is any need to get personal.

There is something else I wanted to tell you, hopefully without sounding like I am preaching. After the Vietnam War, there were a lot of Vietnamese women who had children with American soldiers. When the war was over, the soldiers had to leave the country, leaving their children and the mothers behind. Years later, however, some of those women sent their children to the United States - put them in a plane all on their own, and sent them to live in a strange country with a father the children had never met before, fully aware that they were never going to see them again. And they did that because they loved them. In Vietnam, these children would have had no chance; they would have been forced to live in poverty all their lives, maybe even become criminals or prostitute themselves in order to survive. In the States, however, the children would get enough to eat, could go to school and get a job later. Their mothers knew that, and they loved them enough to let them go. I have to say, I admire those women. Sorry if that sounded a little melodramatic, but you might want to consider this before you go judging all parents who let their children go.

Thank you for reviewing.

Sita

And now... on with the story! Please read and review!

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Chapter 17

"Good news, Commander." Phlox shut off his hand scanner, smiling broadly. "It looks like you'll be able to return to duty a little earlier than I had expected. Your metabolism has stabilized during the last six days, and your scar is healing just fine. Another three days, perhaps four, and I'll give you permission to return to Engineering. Of course..." The doctor held up a hand. "Half-time duties. Four hours a day. No more." He grinned. "And no double shifts in the armory, this time."

Trip grinned weakly in response, watching from his place at the desk as the doctor fussily tucked away his scanner. Phlox was done here, but it was obvious that the doctor still had something on his mind. When instead of leaving Phlox leaned against the edge of the desk, studying him with an air of concern, Trip knew that he'd guessed right.

"Commander..." Phlox hesitated.

"Yeah, doc?"

"Lieutenant Reed told me you haven't been in messhall a lot lately. And the Captain says you haven't had dinner in the captain's mess, either."

Trip stared at the warp core schematic on the screen in front of him. "I've been eatin' in my quarters."

"Do not lie to me, Commander." Phlox sounded sharp now. "As a fact, I know that you have reduced your caloric intake to a level that is not healthy."

There was no sense in denying it. "I'm sorry," Trip said, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "I'll try not to skip any more meals."

There was a pause. Trip knew he had taken the wind out of the doctor's sails by giving in without a fight, but to be honest, he didn't care. He only wanted for the doctor to leave.

"Commander," Phlox began, softer than before, "if there's anything you'd like to talk about, I'm there. I know it's not easy for you, but there is no shame in accepting help. We're worried about you. The Captain, Lieutenant Reed... they have all voiced their concern."

"Thanks, doc," Trip said quietly without looking up. "But there's nothin' I want to talk about."

Phlox sighed, and pushed himself away from the desk. Trip heard the sound of the door opening and closing, and let out a breath of relief. The doctor wouldn't return until tomorrow, and until then there would be no concerned glances, no worried questions if he was feeling alright. Trip welcomed the feeling of being alone. When he was alone, he could distract himself, bury himself in warp core schematics and Engineering reports so he wouldn't have to listen to his own thoughts. He'd become rather tired of them during the last six days, and tried everything in his power to escape his broodings, if only for a short time.

Trip knew that his work was a distraction only as long as it was displayed on the screen in front of him, representing a challenge his mind could focus on. When he switched off the monitor, his thoughts would return, and together with them the overwhelming feeling of loss he couldn't seem to cope with.

But it was better than nothing. As long as he avoided leaving his mind unoccupied for too long, and found excuses not to talk to people, whose concern only reminded him of what he was trying to push away, he got by pretty well. T'Pol would be proud of him if she knew how effectively he had learned to suppress his emotions.

What if she had died on the way back to Thera? What if she hadn't been able to adapt to her new environment, what if her body hadn't been able to cope with the changes?

Trip closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the edge of the table. He couldn't escape these thoughts, no matter how hard he tried. One unguarded moment, and they would pop back up, tormenting him when he was trying to go to sleep, and pouncing on him whenever his scar hurt, or his body found another way to remind him of what he had gone through.

And he was so tired. Physically and mentally. The prospect of returning to duty in a few days stirred only weak anticipation within him - part of him dreaded walking into his department only to be greeted by worried looks and questions if he was alright. People kept asking him that - are you alright. Implying that he wasn't. Implying that he ought to tell them about it because it would make him feel better. The idea that maybe Trip didn't want to feel better, that, in fact, he had no right to feel better, never seemed to occur to them.

Slowly, Trip straightened up again, and looked at the blue lines of the schematic etched on the screen. They seemed to blur before his eyes the longer he looked at them. Not a very pleasant feeling. Shutting off the monitor, Trip got to his feet. He might as well go to bed; it was quite early in the evening, but it made no real difference whether he sat on his desk chair and stared at the walls, or lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling.

He was about to enter the head when the door signal sounded. For a moment, Trip considered not answering and pretending he was already asleep, but then decided against it. Most people knew he wasn't in the habit of going to bed early, and there would only be more questions if he didn't answer the door.

"Come," he called, and the bulkhead slid aside, revealing - not unexpectedly so - Jonathan Archer.

"Trip?" The Captain had one hand one the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Trip gestured at the desk chair. "Sit down."

Archer complied, and Trip sat on his bunk, suddenly feeling reminded of the time when Jon had come to his quarters almost two months ago. Same worried look, same air of someone who had come to make things right. It was so typical of Jon, and Trip felt strangely touched, even though he had no wish to talk to the Captain - or anyone else, for that matter.

"You know, you've left me hanging earlier," Archer said. "I invited Malcolm and T'Pol for dinner, and I was counting on you, to, ah, liven things up a little." He grinned. "As it was, we managed a good average of five words per minute, so I guess I shouldn't be feeling too bad."

Despite himself, Trip felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry, Cap'n. I was feelin' a little tired, and thought I'd go to bed early."

Jon refused to acknowledge the rather blunt hint. "You've been tired a lot lately. Have you talked to Dr.Phlox about it?"

Trip sighed. "I'm okay. Phlox says I can go back on duty in three or four days."

Archer studied him for a moment. "You don't seem too happy about it."

Trip simulated surprise. "'Course I am. I'm fed up with starin' at the walls of this den." His words had a false ring even to his own ears, and he saw that Jon didn't believe him for one second.

"Phlox told me you haven't been eating," the Captain continued. "Are you feeling alright, Trip?"

There it was again. The question that seemed to follow him wherever he went. No, Trip wanted to shout, I'm not feeling alright and I don't want to feel alright, either. But he kept his mouth shut, turning his head to look out the window instead. Silence followed, and Trip began to hope the Captain would leave if he refused to give an answer. Jon stayed put, however, and Trip could feel the Captain's eyes on him as he continued to stare out at the stars.

"Do you miss her that badly?"

The question came quietly, but Trip jumped as if Jon had started to yell without warning. To his dismay he suddenly felt his eyes filling with tears. Jon's question's had touched something in him, something that had been close to the surface all the time and was now welling up with a force that surprised him. He tried his best to hide his tears from the Captain, furtively wiping his eyes with his head turned away, but it was too late. Jon had gotten up, and was now sitting down next to him, putting an arm around him despite Trip shaking his head and trying to pull away.

"It's okay," Jon told him softly, "it's okay."

Trip struggled weakly for another moment, but then it got too much, and he relaxed against Jon's shoulder, giving in to the tears he had been holding back for so long. Part of him was embarrassed at letting the Captain hold him like a small child, but all in all it didn't really make a difference. It wasn't like he had that much dignity left to defend. He wept for a long time, and the feelings of loss and guilt shook his whole body as he sobbed into Jon's shoulder.

"I left her." It came out as a hoarse whisper, and Trip cleared his throat. "Maybe she's dead already, and it's all my fault. I left her."

"Trip." Archer's arm tightened around his shoulders. "What makes you think she's dead?"

"I don't know." Trip swallowed. "Maybe she couldn't cope with her new environment. She's... she's only two weeks old. Maybe it was too much. And it's my fault if she's dead."

The tears threatened to fall again.

"Trip, Dr. Phlox ran several scans to make sure she would be safe. He said there was no problem for her to go through decompression. And the conditions on Ah'Len's ship are made for Xyrillians. There is no reason she shouldn't be perfectly fine."

Trip knew all that. He had been telling himself over and over again, but deep down he was still afraid, no matter what the rational part of his mind believed.

"It's just that... I feel like I abandoned her. I... I took responsibility for her when I refused to undergo the operation, an' now I give her away to some strangers, because... because it's the easy way out."

Trip bit his lip, hard, to stop his voice from breaking.

"That's not true, Trip." Archer's voice was firm. "You didn't decide to give her to S'Raan and Ah'Len because it was the easiest thing for you to do. You wanted for Arh'Leen to grow up back on her homeworld, where she wouldn't be a stranger all her life. You were thinking of her when you made your decision."

"Was I?" Trip wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he had decided what was best for Arh'Leen, not what would give him his old life back and relieve him of all responsibility.

"Yes, you were." Archer hesitated. "Tell me, Trip... do you miss her? Feel bad because she's gone?"

Trip covered his eyes, and nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. Yes, he missed her; he missed her so damn much.

"So it wasn't the easy way out, after all," Archer said quietly. "You miss her, you hurt because she's gone, and you still worry about her. If you had decided to give her away because you were shrinking back from the responsibility, you wouldn't be feeling that way. It wasn't the easy way out, Trip."

"Maybe not." Trip turned his head to look at Jon. "But I still feel it wasn't right. I... I keep thinkin', what if Ah'Len changes her mind. What if she doesn't keep her promise? There's nothin' I can do about it if she decides she can't take the responsibility, after all."

"Trip, even if she does: there's still S'Raan. And I don't think Ah'Len will change her mind. To tell the truth, I don't really like her attitude, but I do think she was being honest when she said she cared about Arh'Leen."

"I keep tellin' myself she was. She... she seemed really happy when I told her they could take Arh'Leen home with them." He hesitated, not sure he wanted to continue. "You know, Jon... it's more than that. Even if I knew for sure Arh'Leen was doin' fine, I still..."

"You'd still wish you had decided to keep her."

Trip started at that. Jon was right; it all came down to this. His doubts and worries were only an expression of the loss he had suffered, and all he really wanted was Arh'Leen back. As simple as that. And reminding himself that his decision had been right, that it was best for the child to go with the Xyrillians, only added to his distress. Knowing that Arh'Leen would be better off in life without him hurt worse than he cared to admit.

Trip felt Jon pulling him closer, holding him in a hug, and he let it happen.

"You know, Trip... you should be proud of yourself."

"Proud?" Trip let out a small laugh. "Why should I be proud?"

Jon didn't miss a beat. "You have all reason to, Trip. You handled this whole pregnancy business a lot better than any of us would have. Including myself." He hesitated. "You know, when the doctor told us about your condition I was very worried about you. I could have kicked myself for sending you to the Xyrillian ship in the first place, when we knew so little about their culture. But at the same time I caught myself thinking, thank God it wasn't me going to their ship. I'm... ashamed to admit it, but that is exactly what I thought."

Trip sensed that it wasn't easy for Jon to admit his feelings. He shook his head.

"Jon, I'm sure everyone felt that way. Hell, if this had happened to... to Malcolm, for example, you wouldn't've caught me standin' in line to switch places with him."

"Malcolm?" Jon chuckled, and for a moment they shared the... interesting image of a pregnant Malcolm Reed.

"That's what I mean, Trip." The Captain grew serious again. "You've been through one hell of an ordeal, and you showed more courage and responsibility than anyone could have expected you to. You decided against the operation, even though it meant endangering your own life, and you were fully prepared to give up part of your job to take care of the baby."

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice..."

"That's because you didn't allow yourself to make it a choice." Archer leaned back a little to be able to look at Trip. "You always put Arh'Leen's interests first, in every decision you made. And yes, I do think you can be proud of yourself."

Trip held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded, acknowledging what Jon had said even though he didn't fully agree with it. Maybe he had put Arh'Leen first, but why couldn't he accept his decision? Why was he still feeling as though he had made a mistake?

"It's jus' that... I miss her so much."

There, he'd said it. Admitted what he had tried to deny ever since she was gone. And Trip realized that on some level it helped, saying it out loud.

"I know, Trip." Archer's hand tightened on his shoulder. "I know you do."

There was nothing to add, and they sat in silence for a while, Archer's arm still resting on Trip's shoulder. Trip stared at the stars streaking past outside the window. His throat still hurt from crying, and his head was aching something fierce, but the hard lump that had been sitting in his chest all week had eased a little. It wasn't entirely gone, and wouldn't be for quite some time, but it was a little easier to bear now. And with every day that passed, Trip knew it would hurt a little less. A slow process, maybe, but one he welcomed nonetheless. Holding it all inside had never worked for him, and neither did it now.

"Did you say Phlox declared you fit for duty in three days?" Jon's voice broke into his thoughts, and Trip nodded.

"Three or four days, yes. He said half-time duties, though."

"Well, I'm sure we can bend that order a little."

Trip threw Jon a surprised glance, and the Captain grinned.

"T'Pol scanned that system of M-class worlds yesterday, and we're currently headed for the third planet. It seems to be rather rich in plant life, according to its atmosphere. Looks like we can finally do something to keep our exobiologists happy. Anyway, there's also quite a lot of water down there. I thought we might do a little underwater exploring, while we're at it. If you're feeling up to it, that is."

Trip was silent for a moment. It did sound tempting, but he was almost sure Phlox would have a fit if he learned of the Captain's plans.

"Sounds fun, but I don't think the doc would allow me to go divin' yet."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Jon said dryly. "And neither would I, just so we're clear on that. I was talking about doing a little snorkeling, camping on the beach, and the like. It's been all work and no play for quite some time now, and I think the crew is due for a little R and R. And you, too."

"Oh." Surprisingly enough, Trip felt himself getting excited at the idea." Sounds great, Cap'n."

"I was hoping you'd say so." Jon grinned. "Maybe we can even convince Malcolm to join us in a game of water polo."

Trip chuckled. It was the first time in days he actually laughed, and it still didn't feel quite right to him. In a way, he felt guilty about joking with Jon, and planning a vacation at a time like this. But he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to it. Sitting in the sun, feeling the warm sand under his feet... it sounded like fun. And maybe that was just what he needed.

"Well, we can always give it a try, can't we?"

Epilogue soon to come up!

Please let me know what you think!


	18. Epilogue

Title: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Author: Sita Z

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to plumtuckered, Gabi, Exploded Pen, Ocean, Rinne, Maraschino, Luna, The Libran Iniquity, Elizabeth Annette and julie for reviewing! And now, finally, the epilogue... please read and review!

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Epilogue

Transmission from Thera, July 28th, 2151

To Commander Charles Tucker.

As you know, it always takes a while for subspace letters to arrive, so when you receive my answer, the news will already be about one week old. But I don't think it will make a big difference; our life is by far not as exciting as yours and I think I can safely assume that things will be much the same one week from now.

From what I have gained, you've encountered a few problems on your latest diplomatic mission. It must be exciting to visit strange planets and meet new species, but I can imagine that translating problems are not the only risk factor. At any rate, I am glad your communications officer was able to save the situation. And I hope Lieutenant Reed will be able to leave sick bay soon. You told me he doesn't like spending time in your medical facilities, so hopefully his recovery won't take too long.

Arh'Leen is doing fine. You would be surprised how much she has grown during the three weeks that have passed since our arrival. The slight indigestion she experienced on our way back to Thera has completely vanished, and she is adapting well to normal baby food. In the meantime, we have finished furnishing and decorating her room, and thanks to the generosity of your crewmates our shopping list was rather short. My brother also provided some clothes and toys he kept from the time when his children were still babies, but Arh'Leen's favorite plaything is still the furry doll you called a _teddy bear_. She will not go to sleep without it. Five days ago we lost it in the garden, and subsequently spent several hours searching rather frantically while Arh'Leen expressed her displeasure loud enough for our neighbors to come over and ask what was going on. They ended up helping us look for the _teddy bear_, and it was with much relief when we finally spotted it under one of the V'Rin bushes.

Last week we invited the family to see her, and especially my parents were quite taken with her. I told them the rather turbulent story of her birth, and while my father was rather taken aback at first, my mother immediately expressed the wish that she would like to meet you one day. I hope that can be arranged. I know your vessel is on a mission of exploration, and you won't be stopping by Thera any time soon, but I want you to know that you are welcome to our home any time. Speaking of family, my great-aunt was very pleased to learn that by coincidence you had chosen her name for the child. Now we have another Arh'Leen in the family.

In the meantime both I and Ah'Len have returned to work. She has found a job at the fleet's head quarters, and seems to enjoy teaching the space trainees. She never talks about missing her old post as Chief Engineer, but I know that she is experiencing some regret at leaving "her" warp engines to someone else. But as I said, her new job seems to agree with her, and she told me she would never consider going back into space. Well, I hope so. It did get a little lonely from time to time, when she was gone.

I have returned to the hospital where I work as an assistant doctor, and I hope to get my full doctorate at the end of next year. At the moment, of course, Arh'Leen takes precedence. I only work morning shifts and stay at home in the afternoon when Ah'Len has her training sessions. This arrangement agrees with both our working schedules, and allows each of us to spent half of the day with our child. My grandparents, of course, weren't too happy when they heard that I hadn't quit working at the hospital; they still believe men should confine themselves to running the household and caring for the children. They mean well, of course, but they are hopelessly old-fashioned. I, at least, have no intention of giving up my job.

Tomorrow Ah'Len and I are both going to take a day off, and go on a trip to one of the bigger lakes in the vicinity. As you know, Arh'Leen quite enjoys being in the water, and I am looking forward to showing her the beach. By the way, I am enclosing some of the pictures I took at the family gathering last week. You will have to excuse my brother (he enjoys playing the fool), but there are several very nice pictures of Arh'Leen as well. She _has_ grown, hasn't she?

Well, I believe I have taken up enough of your time. I am always looking forward to your transmissions, and hope to hear from you again soon. Ah'Len told me to give her regards to you, and she hopes to write a letter of her own when she finds the time.

My best wishes,

your friend S'Raan

The End

Once again... please let me know what you think!

THANKS TO EVERYBODY WHO REVIEWED THIS STORY! You were very encouraging, and I liked getting all your different points of view (even if I didn't always agree :-) ). Thank you very much!

Sita


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